Sins of our Fathers
by leuska
Summary: A year since Sara's trial for aiding and abbeting, going differently than canon. Frank Tancredi didn't die and although Sara and Michael have a content and happy life, there is one thing troubling their existence– the broken father/daughter relationship.
1. Family

Father Issues

Title: Sins of our Fathers

Author: Lizparker6

Characters: Michael Scofield, Sara Tancredi, Lincoln Burrows, LJ Burrows, Frank Tancredi

Pairing: Michael/Sara

Word Count: approx. 2300

Rating: R for some language

Chapter: 1

Genre: Romance, Family, General, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

**Summary:** Frank Tancredi didn't die at the hands of the company and it's been a year since Fin Del Camino and Sara's trial, that went somehow differently than in the canon. However, she, Michael, Lincoln and LJ have quite a content and happy life. But your old life always catches up with you, no matter how hard you try to move on.

_So this exceptionally resistant plot bunny has been in my head for a couple of months now and I couldn't help but finally bring it down on virtual paper, or the bunny would bite me to death._

_The thing is, what if Frank Tancredi did not die but lived? The __spoilers are for the whole of seasons 1 and 2, everything up to Fin Del Camino, my plot demerges to a whole new thing from that point on. However, the plot of S1 and S2 stays in a way intact, stuff that happened to Michael, Sara, Lincoln, LJ as well as other characters stays, though of course, there have to be changes made for our new arrangements with the Governor still alive. There are things from the past that will be explained in due course, of course. Some, however, are kind of not explainable properly, so you will simply have to walk with me on this. :) Anyway, I hope you will enjoy this story. Let me know what you think. _

_The biggest thanks to lssilence for the marvelous and most wonderful betta. :)_

**Chapter 1**** – Family**

"Come on! That's unfair on _so_ many levels!" Cried an outraged LJ in indignation when his uncle scored another hoop. "You are _two_ adults, whereas I've got 'old dodgy knees' on my side while I am still…in development."

"Don't sink that low LJ! Yesterday, you were man enough to take a girl on a date in my new car and today you're too little to play against your old uncle and his girl?" laughed Michael mockingly, giving a grinning Sara a high five while passing her underneath the hoop.

"Stop whining LJ. We are better than _that_ duo; behaving like an old-married couple, who, by the way, only got lucky a couple of times!" Roared Lincoln taking the basketball and dribbling quickly, by-passing Sara and going straight for the hoop, if only not for…

"Hey! That was a foul, Mike! Stop playing dirty and return the ball this instant!" Shouted Lincoln, massaging his sore knee. Michael only smiled shamelessly.

"I didn't see any foul. Did you, Sara?" Sara merely shook her head. "I've got no idea what he is talking about, but _apparently_ he's a bad looser." She quipped.

"Good girl." Uttered Michael under his breath, kissing Sara lightly on his way to the outer semicircle.

"Hey, I want a change of teammates!" Complained LJ all of a sudden. "Dad and his stupid old knees are no good to me, I want _Sara_ on my team!" he finished, hands on his hips stubbornly.

"And you call yourself my _son_?" Cried Lincoln in mock shock and hurt. "My own flesh and blood, selling me out like that?"

"Face the facts dad, you've been asking for trouble since this match started. You got old and rusty and…" before LJ had the chance to finish, however, he broke into a run, his father right at his heel. "Uncle Mike, he's trying to hurt me!" LJ cried circling around Michael, then Sara; and then over the whole playfield, Lincoln still at his heels.

"You've got yourself into this one, I surely won't help you out!" Shouted Michael; redirecting his focus on the person standing next to him, grinning with sparkling eyes. A rush of blood moved down passed his stomach and Michael knew it had nothing to do with the game, nor the warm early spring sunshine.

Lincoln and LJ were still chasing each other around the field, LJ's loud shouts for mercy slowly dying away in the rustle of far away trees. It were moments like these when Michael wondered once again if this was actually true and he wasn't dreaming. If they were really here, playing in a non descript park like a normal, regular family, everybody that mattered to him, here whole, unharmed and happy.

As if she noticed the sudden change of mood, her features changed as well, softened and maybe even grew a bit more solemn. They were staring at each other now, slowly drawing nearer, inch by inch, as if nothing in this world could rush them anymore. Finally, their lips met in a slow, delicate kiss that, however slow at the start, grew in it's urgency as Michael's impatient fingers quickly found her hips, moving her closer against him, and god knew she didn't resist him. Just the opposite as she stepped even closer into his touch, bringing her hands to his head and neck, one hand enjoying the short but growning hair of his, the other caressing the slight stubble on his jaw. She broke the kiss with a smile, murmuring a silent: "I think somebody is in a desperate need for a haircut Mr. Scofield." Michael only smiled back.

"Are you sure?" He pretended to argue; and ran his own hand through his hair for good measure. But the smile and twinkle in his eye gave him away. "But then again you're doctor, doctor."

"I think we may be able to reach an agreement." Sara said, kissing him anew. "It's not like I haven't cut that impossible hair of yours before."

"Hey!" Michael scowled in offense, though his hands were, in the meanwhile, back wandering down her hips, finding what they were looking for; the gap between her sweatpants and shirt, his long fingers caressing the soft sweaty skin beneath. Michael merely grinned as a soft gasp escaped her lips. He still couldn't quite believe such a simple caress of _his_ could have such a deep impact on _her_. He was a lucky guy, he supposed.

Their private moment was suddenly interrupted however; as father and son returned crashing back, both panting hard, LJ seeking refuge behind the intertwined couple, Lincoln strategically posting himself just on the opposite side. He was eyeing his son dangerously for a couple more moments, then something in his look broke and he straightened, waving his hand in dismissal.

"Damn, have it your way then you little unthankful punk! Sooner or later, you will come begging for dinner." At his words, LJ made a small happy dance, then directed his focus on Michael.

"So can I have Sara, now?" He gave a cheeky grin. "No." Michael replied and mockingly returned a cheeky grin, causing LJ to frown.

"Why _not?_" He asked indignantly, scowling at his uncle. "Because _she_ is _mine_." Said Michael, matter of factly, which earned him a loud smack on his arm.

"I am _nobody's._" Sara said half-seriously, though a smile threatened to escape her lips. Then she turned to LJ. "But you have to understand LJ, I've got to look after my interests, and right now, with this little charade of yours, you've spent a lot of energy you could have used playing, whereas your uncle here," she unnecessarily pointed at Michael, "used the spare time more strategically; saving his energy for later."

"Yeah, snogging you!" pouted LJ darkly, causing Lincoln to laugh loudly.

"So to bring some truce in here, can _I_ have Sara on my team? My son kind of sucks lately." Lincoln said loudly, causing LJ to sulk some more.

"Sorry Lincoln, but can you remind me what I told you about borrowing stuff from me? Oh right, It's a no-no! So the answer would be '_no, you definitely CAN'T have Sara on your team_'." Michael finished with a smug expression that caused Sara to roll her eyes.

"You know what, Linc? I think I could kind of use a break from your brother, so yeah, we can play together. It's not like we were much appreciated as team players either way." Sara said a bit coldly, crossing her way to join Lincoln's side.

"Oh but you are _deeply_ appreciated on this team, doctor." Michael said in a seductive voice, all too late realizing that such kind of statements in front of his brother or nephew still caused Sara to feel a bit uncomfortable. He cursed himself inwardly as he saw a deep red colouring creep onto Sara's cheeks, but then again; he simply smiled at that lovely sight. It felt almost impossible she still behaved that shy in front of anybody but the two of them. Michael decided it was time for a sudden change. Before anybody had the time to react, he crossed the distance between himself and Sara, seizing her up by her waist and lifting her over his shoulder, taking everybody by surprise. She had time only to give a little squeal before Michael turned to face his brother and nephew, Sara still over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"If you want her, you have to get through me first!" he exclaimed in what was supposed to be a playful nonchalant grin but failed miserably due to his inability to hold Sara properly as she was squirming in his grip; fighting to free herself.

"Michael, drop me this instant!" She commanded helplessly, as his grip tightened around her legs, hearing Lincoln and LJ roar with laughter.

"You honestly want me to _drop _you?" Asked Michael in pretense shock, trying not to give in as Sara used another tactic, running her fingers all over his back, now dangerously close to his buttocks.

"No no! No dropping! A gentle put-me-down will do. I know you are no gentleman, Michael." She said, not noticing the quick change of atmosphere that occurred all of a sudden. Michael's whole body stiffened, LJ's and Lincoln's laughter dying at once.

"Michael, put me down or I swear to god, I'll pull down your pants!" Sara gave a last, desperate threat and to her surprise, Michael obliged, lowering her slowly and carefully until her feet touched the ground again. Standing safely on her feet again with her hands tightly pressed against his chest, Sara only then looked up into Michael's face, ready to tell him off. What she saw, however, took her by surprise, for only then did she see a partly shocked expression on Michael's face, his eyes looking over her, fixed upon something behind her. She followed his gaze turning around, only to feel her own world shift at the sight of the person standing right in front of them.

There, just mere feet away stood Frank Tancredi, her_ father_. They were staring at each other for a moment, the look on Frank's face clearly showing signs of disapproval at Sara's present company. She couldn't care less.

"Hello, Sara." He said, ignoring her other company.

With her arms still on Michael's chest, Sara could blurt out only one sentence in pure shock: "What do _you_ want here?"

She couldn't keep the anger out of her voice and Michael realized painfully, how quickly her mood changed from cheery to icy cold. It hurt because he knew that the icy cold was only a pretense of still a girl, who inwardly crumpled into pieces for the lack of her father's appreciation.

"I want to talk." Frank said, obviously keeping his voice as neutral as possible.

"You are almost a year late." She said coolly without as much as blinking.

"Sara…" Michael started, but she silenced him with a single non-negotiable look.

"I admit I might have made some mistakes in the past…" Started Frank, although his tone was far from asking forgiveness, Michael noticed at once.

"_Some mistakes_?!" Sara turned as though stung by a jellyfish, her eyes now burning with open rage. "You let me go to prison without as much as blinking, for Christ sake!" She spat angrily, her eyes blazing. Michael tried to reach out to her, but she pulled away from him. Lincoln and LJ wished that they could disappear into thin air than witness this.

"I'll go get the car." Lincoln muttered and without another word made his way to the nearby parking lot with LJ quickly following behind.

"What? You expected me to get you out of that one, too?!" Asked Frank indignantly, his own temper quickly raising to match Sara's.

"No dad…" Sara shook her head sadly, giving a lifeless smile. "…I only expected you to come to court and sit with me during the trial. Show me some support, some comfort, maybe even respect since you were the only parent I've got left. I guess I overestimated you on that, too."

"Respect? Respect for what? For ruining my reputation; my career; my VP nomination; or for causing me to be the laugh of half the congress for weeks?"

"I am sorry, I forgot I've always been only no.2 on your list of priorities." Sara pointed out angrily, but Michael caught the light tremor in her voice.

"You know that's _not_ true." Said Frank and for a glint of a second, Michael could see a trace of honesty in the older man's words. "But I simply can't be responsible for you for the rest of your life."

"I never asked you to be!"

"You don't need to ask, it's enough to look at your rap sheet. _Or_ the people you keep company with lately."

There was a moment of silence, father and daughter seizing one another carefully. Then, something inside of Sara broke.

"I don't need to listen to this anymore." She said quietly and with that turned on the spot walking away toward the parking lot where LJ and Lincoln were already waiting in a started car. Michael only stood there helplessly. It's been almost a year since Sara had spoken to her father and no matter what she said or did, he knew it pressed heavily on her. Michael had hoped the first encounter between Sara and her father would lead them to sorting out of some past issues, and not end in this bitter anger. He knew how complicated Sara's relationship with her father had been even before they've met. But Michael also knew he and his brother were partially responsible for the final road their relationship had been driven down.

Frank was eyeing him scornfully, but it didn't bother Michael the least. He knew he did very little; if anything to earn this man's trust. Michael didn't know what to do nor say to this man, but Sara's father finally liberated him of that task, when he finally spat an angry: "Tell her we are not finished yet.", before he turned and stormed out of the pitch, leaving a confused Michael behind. _Not finished yet_ meant there would be more encounters. Whether of good or bad nature; that was the crucial question here.

TBC

_AN – Ok, so this plot bunny has been in my head for months now and I couldn't help but get this first chapter out of my system, but I have to warn you, this story seems to be a rather long one and since I have another story going on right now, the time to write will be even shorter. Also, I have to warn you, since I tend to be a fair person – I am kind of a jerk at finishing stories and therefore, there is the possibility this story will never be finished._

_However, as for now, I am fully confident to continue with this, since there are so many fascinating aspects of Sara and Franks broken relationship I somehow hope to mend in ways…but that's a long way to go. Are you ready for the ride?_


	2. Old Enough

_So, here (finally!) goes the second chapter of Sins of our fathers. The main plot line of this story is – __**What if Frank Tancredi didn't die at the hands of the company?**__ What would his relationship to his daughter be after the dust finally settled?_

_With many thanks to my great beta Ellen aka lssilence. You rock girl. :)_

**Sins of our fathers chapter 2**** – 'Old enough'**

The day started wonderfully. Sara was woken by a string of magnificent kisses just in the right places. And before even a lazy grin had the chance to spread all over her face, Michaels lips captured hers in a hungry kiss that left her breathless.

"Morning." She was the first to react when they finally pulled apart ever so slightly, having the chance to grin properly at last.

"Morning to _you_, doctor." He answered in a husky voice, capturing her mouth once again, slowly rolling over Sara's half naked body to her back, lightly pinning her down between him and the mattress. She squirmed underneath his weight; but merely to adjust into a better position, eyeing Michael almost challengingly. There was a twinkle in his eye telling her he was up to the challenge before his look changed, softened, and he bend down to her face planting the most delicate and loving of kisses she ever experienced.

"Happy birthday Sara." He whispered with his eyes literally shining with love in the dim light illuminating the small bedroom.

'_Must be my best birthday ever.'_, Sara mused before she smiled a full radiating smile that was, even to Michael, still rather rare and precious. The she brought her hands to his neck and pulled him down to her lips once again. A low moan escaped her lips before she pulled harder on his shoulders, bringing his body flush against hers. She brought her face to his ear and gave it a slight bite before whispering softly: "Please Michael, can I open at least one of the presents now?" She felt him quiver against her in anticipation. Her grin only grew. _Yep, definitely best birthday ever._

"I though it was your birthday, not mine." Grinned Michael and was quickly to catch up, burring his face into the crook of her neck. He started to plant open kisses up from her jaw to her collarbone, not stopping until he reached the soft swell of her breast. He didn't let the thin fabric of her shirt, _his _shirt, stop him in his mission however; and he heard her gasp under his mouth. He grinned devilishly._ She had no idea what present she just begged him into opening._

...

One hour and a joint shower later, they finished the last of their breakfast before hastily leaving for work. Dropping her at the next L train station, he grabbed her arm before she had the chance to slip out of the car without a proper goodbye.

"Hey!" He protested loudly.

"Michael, as much as I would appreciate this, I'm already running late today." She said smiling and without the slightest trace of regret in her voice, she turned in her seat to eye him.

"In my defense, I'm not the one who couldn't get enough…_affection_…this morning." Michael shot back and saw deep red creep onto her cheeks.

"Hey, it's my birthday today! And I thought you said I was allowed to open a present."

"True, but you were allowed to open only _one_ present." Michael replied while grinning madly. If it were up to him, he would allow her to open at least a dozen _presents_ before leaving for work without any complaint. Sara only grinned back wildly at the memory of their morning together.

"Don't you need to get to work?" Michael asked suddenly with raised eyebrows when her face started to draw closer.

Sara dismissed his question by drawing even closer. "I think they will manage without me for five more minutes. It's not like the clinic is going anywhere." With that she kissed him urgently, parting only when she heard the rail over their heads shake with the oncoming train. She pushed the car door open and smiled at the sound of a surprised and slightly desperately shouted _'Don't forget the reservation is at eight! _, and: _Love you!'_ that carried through the air after her mingling with all the other sounds of street traffic.

...

It was only her lunch break and Sara had already had enough. Work had been…well, work. The clinic she had been working at was in one of the worst parts of the city; but she didn't complain. She had worked at Fox River after all, so this has been a piece of cake. And it wasn't like Michael's job was any better.

It's been a hard year; for both of them. Their careers still suffered a huge blow from the events of the previous year. Though officially cleared by the authorities, a brilliant engineer like Michael was still nothing more but a tattooed ex-prisoner and she his ex-prison-overdose-doctor who helped him escape; so they were clearly not the first pick for any potential employers.

Sara sighed. She had had crappy jobs before. And knowing that she could make even the slightest of differences almost anywhere, she didn't mind that much. But she knew how much his work environment repressed Michael. He would never admit it to her openly, but she knew he hated his current job. With the reputation he had, the only one who was so desperate to employ him was a starting low-budget constructing company that was directed by a duo of incompetent brothers who wanted to make big money out of nothing as quickly as possible. And their future plans, as well as company strategy, were so unrealistic and crappy Sara was sure the only one who they could thank for still being in business was Michael, who executed almost half their insane projects and gave them at least some shape of realness. Needless to say, he hated the job and Sara would welcome it if he would just quit it there and then, rather than watch him work late hours and come home exhausted and downcast. But she couldn't talk to him about it even if she wanted to, for Michael did everything to hide the truth from her; always putting her needs before his own.

She sighed anew. Damn, this was not what she was supposed to think about on her birthday, was it? Instead, she directed her thoughts to a more pleasant topic; remembering how her day started that very morning with the first gift she was allowed to, uhm, _unwrap._ The very thought sent an abundance of butterflies flying frantically all over her belly and she couldn't stop the smile as she felt her blood literally heat up and rush to all the right places. _Damn…damn…damn…yeah, damn…_

There was a sudden knock on her door and she turned around with a start. There was a young delivery boy standing in the doorway holding a large bouquet of fresh flowers.

"Uhm, I am looking for Doctor Sara Tancredi?" He said and the nervous, almost anxious look on his face gave away he had never been in this particular part of city before.

"That's me." Sara answered frowning, still a bit taken aback by the unexpected visit.

"Great." The boy smiled and couldn't stop a sigh of relief when Sara smiled at him in return, taking pity of the poor lad. "This is for you." He said and stepped into the room, handing her the flowers and asking for a signature before he left. She stared at the bunch of flowers in her hands for a moment. They surely couldn't have been from Michael; he knew very well how she felt about flowers. There was only one person on earth who could be so heartless and send her flowers on her birthday. Actually, the person who was the reason why she hated receiving flowers in the first place. There was only one way to find out though.

She laid the flowers carefully on the table and then withdrew the small card attached to the bunch.

_Dear Sara,_

_Happy 30__th__ Birthday_

_Your F__ather_

There was nothing more and she didn't know why; but she felt disappointed. It wasn't like she ever received anything different from her father on her birthday in the past few years, nor did he even write different text. The sole fact he even sent her flowers at all could be called revolutionary in the least; if considering the terms they were, or better said _weren't_ on in the past year. And still, she _did _feel disappointed of sorts.

After their last encounter in the park a month ago he had tried to call her a couple of times, but she stubbornly refused to pick up. He was, after all, the first one who cut her off. Gave up on her. Now, almost a year later, he wanted to play all fatherly again? _Not a chance_, if she had any say in it. She looked at the card in her hand one more time and the words on it blurred all of a sudden.

'_For Christ sake__…'_

She sniffed loudly, stubbornly swallowing the big lump that seemed to form in her throat. She snatched the bouquet angrily from the table, throwing it unceremoniously into the trash. A single bunch of flowers couldn't make up for all he had done, or hadn't done to her in the past years. He even didn't have the guts to show up and bring her those damned flowers himself.

Sara had to smirk involuntarily at the sudden mental picture of Frank Tancredi walking into this, what he would probably call _dreadful _clinic, with a bouquet of flowers at his disposal. Hell, she was surprised that such a fancy florist shop even delivered to this part of town.

When her nurse Sam walked into the small exam room five minutes later, Sara was again calm, composed and fully concentrated on her work. With a last scornful look at the garbage can she turned around and gave a warm smile to a little girl and her mother who just entered the room.

...

They had been sitting at a table at the far corner of a small Italian restaurant Michael picked out weeks ago. They've already eaten dinner and were just picking out dessert. There was no rush however, Michael's hand comfortably resting upon Sara's, his thumb stroking her fingers gently.

"So…" He started with a joyful gleam in his eyes. "…how do you like your evening so far, Doctor Tancredi?" He asked playfully, although his look transpired a slight anxiousness that craved her approval. Sara smiled.

"I love it so far; if that's your concern Michael." She said reassuringly, squeezing his hand.

"You seemed a bit distracted when you came home from work today." Michael uttered casually, though he felt anything but casual when he remembered the kind of distant look on her face when she came home into their small apartment a few hours ago.

"Tough day at work, I guess." She replied back keeping her tone even, but her eyes were shying away as she sipped on her soda absentmindedly.

"No flowers from your father?" He asked carefully while tightening his grip on her hand and his sudden unexpected question caused her to choke on her drink. She took a few steadying breaths before looking at him with narrowed eyes. _There was no possible way he could have known, was there? But hey, this was Michael after all._ She averted her eyes once more and he saw with a squeeze in his heart that he obviously hit a right, but soft nerve.

"I am sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up." He uttered quickly, desperately trying to repair the damage he's already done.

"It's ok. Actually…" she took a deep breath, "…he _did_ sent me flowers." Michael's eyebrows raised in surprise.

"You didn't bring them home." He remarked, although he already knew the answer.

"I threw them in the trash, where they belong." Retorted Sara maybe a bit harshly, but her features softened quickly again, her fingers curling around his in a gentle squeeze of her own.

"Let's not talk about this." She gave him a small smile that being however sweet, literally begged him to drop the subject and God help him, he did.

"So what are your plans yet for me for this evening, Mr. Scofield?" She asked, shakily returning to safe grounds again. Michael couldn't help but smile, pretending to ponder about her question for a moment.

"Well,…", he started lazily, "…I thought that maybe after we wrap this up, we could stop by on our way home and get you a burrito…" he didn't even need to finish the sentence when a strong bubbly giggle filled the air around the small table they were sitting at. He couldn't help but let out a small laugh himself, momentarily lost in her genuinely cheery mood.

"_Sara?_" The voice cut sharply through the air and her laugh died away at once at the sound of the all too familiar voice. She snapped her head up only to see her father stand over their table, a somewhat tense expression on his face. The couple was frozen momentarily, Sara to be the first to find her voice again.

"What do you want here?" _She was like a broken record._

"I wanted to see you. Say happy birthday to you in person." There was something shy about the way Frank acted, Michael noted.

"Seven." Sara said bluntly in return. Obviously, Frank didn't follow her train of thought, so she explained further. "_Seven_ is the complete number of times you manages to see me from all of my 30 birthdays." She finished and a sinking feeling of familiarity filled Michael's stomach. What surprised him most, however, was the unknown ruthless edge to Sara's voice.

She must have hit a nerve because Frank was momentarily lost for words at the fact his daughter could actually count his absence at her special day by heart.

"How did you know we were here anyway?" Sara asked.

"I've… got my sources." Frank finally stuttered unceremoniously and Michael noticed that flustering must run in the family.

"You were _spying_ on us?" The indignation in her voice sent a chill up Michael's spine. Her tone seemed to ignite a familiar fire inside of Frank.

"Well, since you didn't return any of my calls you didn't really give me a choice there kid, did you?" Franks tone was accusing, but that wasn't what caught Michael's attention and he shot a quick surprised look at Sara; she never mentioned any calls from her father. If she didn't notice his look, or was deliberately refusing to meet Michael's eyes he didn't know, but her gaze was directed solely at her father again. The next time she spoke, her tone was again composed but cold and distant.

"I hoped you would get the message."

Michael felt like somebody poured a bucket of ice cubes into his stomach. Frank Tancredi looked like he had had enough too. "Anyway, since it's your birthday," he started through gritted teeth obviously doing everything to keep his composure minding his surroundings, "I thought you might want to have this." With that, he half smashed a little black velvet box on the table in front of Sara. Michael had no idea what it was, but Sara must have recognized it at once for her eyes widened in shock and silent tears sprung to her eyes immediately.

"Needless to say that the way you are acting, she would be disappointed in you." That was Frank's last retort before he turned and left, fuming with anger and almost knocking over the waiter who made his way towards the couple to collect their dessert orders.

They've lost their appetite and therefore Michael only quickly paid their bill and let the obviously shaken and still uncharacteristically quiet Sara to their car. Since her father tossed the small velvet box at the table she was clutching it almost painfully; her knuckles turning white with the effort. Her eyes unfocussed and glassy, Michael was more than unsettled by the look of her. She had seated herself into the car and buckled her seatbelt, but they were all just mechanical movements, while her mind seemed to be somewhere completely else. Michael tried desperately to reach out to her, talk to her, but after a few stillborn attempts, he let the subject drop, driving in silence in the direction of their small apartment.

...

The lift finally reached the seventh floor and they got off. Walking slowly to the door of their apartment Michael wished nothing else than to quickly close the door behind them and embrace and comfort the woman soullessly walking beside him. A woman supposed to be cheerily celebrating her 30th birthday right now.

However, as he unlocked the door and pushed it open, he noticed it was already lit by strong light and two male figures were already jumping from behind the couch shouting a loud: "_SURPRISE!_" before coming to a stop at the sight of the miserable looking couple in front of them.

"Guys, you ok?" Asked Lincoln nervously when he noticed Sara's stricken face. She opened her mouth staring into the apartment with an expression of pure confusion on her face slowly taking in the decorations and…_cake..._ sitting on the coffee table. She turned to Michael wide-eyed.

"Did you know about this?" there was far more than just a slight trace of accusation in her voice. His eyes widened and he quickly shook his head in panic. _Obviously not._

She looked back at the awkward-looking Lincoln and LJ for a moment before she brought her hand to massage her forehead. _Oh yes. This was exactly why she hated surprises._

"Just…just…give me a break." She uttered at last, her voice both, tired and pleading in the same time. She then crossed the room putting the velvet box carefully upon the coffee table, before without another word disappearing behind the bedroom door.

...

It took Michael less than 15 minutes to explain to Lincoln and LJ and see them to the door. Then he quickly disposed of the decorations and put the cake into the refrigerator before he headed for their bedroom. He shut out the light in the living room and quietly opened the door to the small bedroom, half expecting Sara to already be stuffed under the heavy covers pretending to be asleep. It surprised him therefore when he saw the bed was empty. A small strip of light streamed from underneath the bathroom door and he uncertainly made his way towards it. He knocked on the door softly calling Sara's name and when no answer came he chose to simply push it open; his concern for her growing so much he didn't want nor dared to grant her some privacy.

She was sitting at the floor near the shower, her knees drawn up to her chest, hugging her figure tightly with her arms face and head buried deep inside her chest. He didn't say anything. He just walked to her and sat down right next to her on the floor and with the first contact his slightly trembling hand made with her shoulder; she immediately leaned heavily into him with an unexpected force. He hugged her as tightly as he dared when the sobs started to wrench her body. The intensity with which she cried scared as well as shook him, his own heart crying for the wretched woman weeping in his arms.

His hands were drawing large circles on the small of her back, traveling up and down the lengths of her arms while his lips were uttering silent pleas and assurances he wasn't sure he was allowed to give. He kissed her head and neck while she stayed buried in his chest, his heart painfully constricting every time she heaved a heavy sob. He couldn't remember the last time he had seen her cry like this; so violently as if the raw pain that was gripping her heart was only bearable by pouring out her sorrow through her very eyes.

He didn't know how long they sat there, but Michael didn't care much in particular. He was stroking her hair affectionately and whispering loving assurances to her now still figure laying almost limply in his arms.

He felt his limbs stiffen at the hard cold floor as he was trying to get a better look of Sara; who was still refusing to look at him directly. Even after all her sobs died away a couple of minutes ago, her head kept stubbornly buried deep in the crook of his neck. With the sudden thought of how uncomfortable she must be feeling at the cold hard floor, he uttered a silent: '_I'm going to pick you up so don't worry, alright?_' before he scooped her up and conveyed her to their bedroom, carefully lowering her down on their bed. Under other circumstances they probably would have joked about his chivalry.

As he let her down, she finally dared to look up at him, an apologetic and almost shy look of a scared deer washing over him at once. With his heart feeling like being ripped out from his chest he felt the sudden urge to hug her again, but then thought better of it and let her have her space instead. She propped herself up on her arms and shifted higher on the bed. He was following her every movement with deliberate vigilance as she laid her hand upon the free space of the mattress next to her and patted it in a silent invitation. He let out a shaky breath he didn't even know he was holding and climbed onto the bed right next to her, unceremoniously shrugging his jacket off and tossing in onto the floor in the process. He couldn't help but notice a small smile escaping her lips, her gaze fixed up the crinkled jacket.

"You are going to regret that in the morning." She said quietly, her tone containing a little portion of amusement.

"Well, let's leave the Future-Michael deal with that, shall we?" He returned back playfully as he was climbing next to her onto the bed and she graced him with another of her rare smiles.

"May I?" He asked quietly as he offered her his embrace and she was more than happy to accept. She snuggled into him, burring her nose into his shirt, breathing in his scent for a moment.

"I love you." It was the tiniest of whispers, but it couldn't hit Michael harder even if she shouted it at full lungs. He wrapped his arms tighter around her.

"I love you too Sara."

They lay like that for a moment and then she raised her head, resting her chin on his chest to be able to look him directly into the eyes. "You're wondering what's in the box my father gave me." She said; and it was a statement.

"Yes." He answered earnestly after a moment. "But you don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"I do." She answered without any trace of doubt and Michael's heart skipped a beat. "It's just…" she let out a shaky breath, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment. "…it isn't easy."

"Their my mother's diamond earrings." She said at last. "They were in the family for generations, from what I know, and since I was a little girl I've always asked her if I could have them for my birthday. The answer was always the same; _when you are old enough, darling._ She never specified what she exactly meant with that, and after her death, I didn't have the courage to simply take them and claim them as mine. I always felt like I had to…" her brow furrowed as she was trying to find the right words to express herself, "…_earn_ them in some way."

"I know that feeling." Michael said thoughtfully while stroking her hair lovingly and something about the way he said it made her shiver, but she didn't comment.

"I guess 30 is the right age then." Sara said with finality, her eyes anew filling with tears she wouldn't let fall this time.

"Or there is no particular age at all and your father simply thought you were old enough to have them." Michael suggested gently, pressing the subject ever so slightly. Sara didn't respond but merely shook her head. "I doubt that." She said and although she tried to sound casually, her voice was slightly trembling.

After a moment, she said something that's been oh her mind since her father left the restaurant.

"He said she would be ashamed of me." The words were not more than a disconsolate whisper.

"He was just angry."

"Maybe he was right."

Michael was quiet. There was nothing he could really say to that; was there? He loved her with all his heart and soul. The things he saw her do and conquer spoke volumes about her strong yet fragile personality at the same time. However, he couldn't imagine any mother or parent to be ashamed of a daughter like herself. She was compassionate and smart and sweet and hardworking and selfless and so special it still amazed Michael _he_ got to be the lucky one who had the privilege to be with her; body and soul.

"He _wasn't_ right in what he said about you. He never was." Michael whispered in and urgent and convinced voice, bringing his forehead to rest against hers. Sara didn't reply. Maybe for the first time he could remember, he felt a strong pang of anger towards the man whose words could still cause more harm and pain than any physical injury ever would.

"There isn't a way me and my father will ever be able to fix this. Fix _us_." Sara said at last, her eyes closed, her forehead resting against Michael's comfortably.

Michael drew her closer bringing his lips to her ear and whispered: "You never know. You need to keep faith things will start to get better between the two of you."

For some reason, his statement seemed to irritate her. "I don't want to have any more _faith_. From what I've experienced with him, I lost that a long time ago and I don't see any reason whatsoever why I should give him another chance." She said stubbornly and it broke Michael's heart, knowing only all too well how quickly the anger and fury of a neglected child could quickly turn into guilt for not granting forgiveness sooner when there was still time.

"You gave _me_ another chance." Michael pointed out in a choked voice. She sighed and buried her face in his chest again.

"Why now?" She asked in despair letting out a shaky breath. "Why does he want to return _now_? I've closed this chapter of my life; he _closed_ it for us both a year ago."

"Maybe he feels sorry. Maybe he feels lonely." Michael suggested carefully.

"I felt lonely too. And he didn't give a damn; he wasn't there for me."

"I wasn't there for you either." Michael's voice was merely a whisper, the guilt all too badly concealed. She brought her arms to encircle his waist.

"You couldn't have returned. I _didn't_ want you to return." They had just dived into a dangerous territory and both of them knew it, but neither one could stop the other from sinking deeper.

"I shouldn't have left you in the first place. And I shouldn't have left without you." The amount of self-spite in his voice was overwhelming. She squeezed her hands around his torso tighter.

"I _made_ you. And I never regretted it. Not for a second." She said firmly against his chest but already feeling he was starting to shut out her arguments and starting to dive into his own dark pit of self-doubt, regret and guilt.

"Michael…" She breathed with her face still buried into his chest. "…don't do this to yourself." She brought her hands to his face and forced him to look at her.

"_Please." _She uttered one single word that falling from _her_ lips, it could only mean one thing to him; a direct command. Still, it was hard to forgive oneself. As if sensing the persistent doubt and conflict inside of him she used the only remaining weapon she knew she possessed. She kissed him. He didn't respond at the beginning, the insane feeling to self-induced punishment keeping him at bay, but then, '_Didn't he always_?', he gave in.

They didn't discuss any of the events of that day nor their recent past that night anymore. There was no point to do that; what was done was done.

But the way they made love that night was different. _They_ felt different. They would get up in the morning and be their usual self; eat breakfast, go to work, have some dinner and watch a movie and then go to bed only to wake up to another day. But today, at this very night, both of them were hurting, and spoken reassurances were simply not enough.

TBC


	3. Know Your History

_**Chapter 3 **__**– Know your History**_

_**A year earlier….**_

_The __Christina Rose was a big and beautiful ship. That was what Michael was aiming for when he ordered her construction; personally viewing the blueprints beforehand. She sat on the water gracefully, tossing ever so slightly upon the blue of the shore waves. Under different circumstances, Michael would be proud to show her off. Right now, however, the only thing that really mattered to him was to find the small computer device that lay somewhere inside and Google one name that's been constantly on his mind for the past week._

_He __boarded the yacht, hastily typing the entry code, while Lincoln silently admired the boat's clever construction. Five minutes later, Michael stepped onto the deck already starting the little searching device. Lincoln eyed his brother carefully. Voicing his concerns about Michael's somewhat neurotic obsession with gaining information about a certain someone has already got Lincoln into trouble once. _

_Till they reached __the Christina Rose, Michael had tried to call Sara's phone and Lincoln's act of stopping that from happening brought such a tension between the brothers it resulted into a fight; the first row ever since Michael told him he would break him out of Fox River. Now, when the task was accomplished, his brother couldn't celebrate this success with him. Of course Lincoln felt sorry for Michael, but life wasn't fair to any of them; and after one week of his sulking mood about loosing Sara when they finally had the opportunity to live the life they run for, Lincoln has had enough. He suffered some loses too, Michael should realize, but he didn't whine about them constantly. _

"_OH-MY-GOD!" Michael's voice cut through Lincoln's musings with a force that caused the older brother snap his head in Michael's direction. The astonishment and shock in Michael's features was only too evident while he was still looking at the small screen. Firstly, Lincoln thought it was about something bad happening to someone they knew, possibly even Sara. Then, he saw Michael's lips twitch upwards in a shocked unbelieving smile._

"_You__'re _free_ Linc." Michael stated simply, as if he himself couldn't believe the news to be true just yet. "You've been exonerated!" He unglued his vision from the small screen and finally stared at Lincoln in pure joy mixed with disbelief before he turned the small monitor towards Lincoln to check for himself. What appeared to be a newspaper article clearly stated what Michael previously said: '_Burrows cleared of all charges - ex-secret agent delivers exonerating evidence!'

_Lincoln let out a shaky breath. "How the fuck did _that_ happen?" _

"_Wait…" said Michael, scrolling down the page, quickly skimming through the article. His eyes stopped at something and his features softened at once. "…Sara…" He breathed quietly. He watched the monitor for a few seconds in silence before realizing Lincoln didn't had the chance to read along which left him guessing and expecting Michael to tell him, so Michael started to read out loud._

'Yesterday, the US jurisdiction suffered a hard blow when after more than three years of persecution, the state's attorneys finally cleared Lincoln Burrows, the man who supposedly murdered ex-presidents Reynolds brother Terence Steadman, of all charges. The shocking evidence was delivered yesterday at the sixth day of the trial of Doctor Sara Tancredi, Governor Tancredi's daughter, who is being charged for aiding and abetting Burrows and Scofield firstly during their breakout and later on the run, as well as for skipping her bail. Under the weight of the new evidence, Lincoln Burrows, who spent three years in Fox River State Penitentiary and who broke out with another seven men four weeks ago, was cleared of all charges with immediate validity. His brother, Michael Scofield, is still facing charges for breaking out of prison, but the state's attorneys unofficially communicated, that under the circumstances, it is likely Scofield won't be tried on his felonies. The ex-agent by the name of Paul Kellerman came not just with an astounding confession, but also handed all the needed evidence. He has been taken into custody and it can be expected that within a few days, charges against him will be brought to court.'

_Michael__ finished reading and looked anew at Lincoln wide-eyed. He could see sheer happiness and relief on his face, his eyes glassing over with moisture. "Linc, this is incredible…" He whispered. _

"_Yeah…" Lincoln laughed out a shocked sigh. "Fucking WOW!" he couldn't say anything more. This was not only what they wanted, this was something they hadn't even dared to dream of. Lincoln crossed the distance between them in two quick strides and embraced his brother. "Thank you!" He whispered into his brother's year, although he knew that a simple 'thank you' would never be enough. "Thank you for giving me my life back." He could feel Michael's hug tightening around him. _

_They let go of each other a short while later, Michael's forehead wrinkling when a thought occurred to him and he started to scan the newspaper for something else._

"_What are you looking for?" a__sked Lincoln, interest in his voice. _

"_The article didn't say anything about Sara and her charges. I want to know if she was cleared too."_

_Lincoln suppressed a roll of his eyes. Of course she must have been cleared too, with the whole fucking conspiracy being blown right into the Company's face, but he knew better than to argue with his brother. Lincoln turned his back on Michael instead, giving his brother some privacy while watching over the water where it met the horizon; thinking about his son and the wonderful amount of opportunities that lay before them from now on. He didn't have to run anymore. He could return back and reclaim his life, starting over, legally, with his son and brother at his side._

_Lincoln was brought from his happy reverie by a single sharp desperate hitch of breath that came from behind him and he knew even before he turned around that something was terribly wrong. He could only watch as his brother sank to his feat, blank shocked expression in is eyes, repeating a single word of denial over and over again. _

"_What's wrong?" asked Lincoln not wasting time as he crouched to his brother's side hoping for an answer, but he couldn't get one out of Michael, who looked as if he was choking, gasping for breath. _

"_Michael, __what's_ wrong_?!" He asked a little more forcibly and it was then when Michael outstretched his hand toward him, handling Lincoln the small device._

_His eyes widened the same amount as Michaels when he read the headline that must have shattered Michael's world. _

'Governor's daughter sentenced for 3 years in prison'

'Sara Tancredi, the daughter of the governor of Illinois, Frank Tancredi, was yesterday sentenced to three years in a prison with maximum security level after she lost her case concerning charges for aiding and abetting the Burrows and Scofield brothers as well as other felons during their escape from Fox River State Penitentiary 4 weeks ago. Followingly, she also violated the conditions of her bail when she left the state without informing the authorities, allegedly to meet up with Scofield.

Because of this the judge, Judy Arlin, wasn't willing to mild the incarceration time Tancredi was facing. Arlin expressed her belief that, violating her parole after such a grave incident at Fox River let believe Tancredi didn't take the findings of the court seriously enough. She also concluded, that even when Tancredi had indeed had justified concerns for her safety and life, she should have come to the authorities first and not run. The judge therefore described her behavior as reckless and in contempt of the court.

Tancredi was claiming she only aided and abetted to help an innocent man escape death row was also dismissed by the judge who didn't believe Tacredi's claim she didn't know about all the escapees known as the 'Fox River Eight', but rather left the door open only for the two brothers Scoffield and Burrows.

Tancredi's lawyer, Bruce Bennett, protested heavily against the doctor's placement into a maximum security prison, but the judge declared this to be an appropriate punishment, due to Tancredi's misuse of her powers and position as chief of medicine at Fox River.

Governor Tancredi was not present at the trial. His office also didn't release any official statement, but it is believed he severed all ties to his daughter, being well known for his strict and relentless policy against felons and criminal activity itself.'

_Lincoln blinked and gulped, but it didn't make the __big lump in his throat go away. He looked down at Michael, who was sitting on the wooden floor of the boat staring into the space in front of him blindly, thumping the back of his head against the metal railing in an absentminded gesture._

"_Michael, I am so sorry…" Lincoln started but was cut by an abrupt halting gesture of Michael's hand__ that clearly stated he didn't want to be comforted nor talked to at all. The look on him concerned Lincoln deeply, knowing Michael's abilities to cope with guilt being almost non-existent, but he also knew there was not much he could do about it because in situations like these, he could never get to his brother even if he wanted to. _

…_…_

_He did this. He left her alone and now she was facing three years…_God, three years_…in a maximum security prison. He had lied to her, deceived her, caused her to take a drug overdose and being chased and almost assassinated and tortured and abandoned and finally traded for his brother's freedom. _

_He traded Lincoln's life for her freedom. _

_He had to go back, he had to make this right. _'How'_ was not a question, there had to be a way. There was always a way. Through the heavy fog that was now clouding his brain, he could hear Lincoln saying something to him, but he didn't recognize the words._

_God, she was doing time in a maximum security prison; _right now, right this very moment!_ While he was here, sitting at the deck of his yacht celebrating his brother's freedom, she, the Governors daughter, has been sharing a small space with the most dangerous women in country. His head spun. He thought of T-bag and Abruzzi and all those other guys and how scared and endangered _he_ felt every day in Fox River. And now, she was in that exact situation, scared and vulnerable and unprotected. He thought about her frightened and grateful face when he helped her escape from the infirmary during the riots. There was no one to help her now thought and he was responsible for that. _

_The incoming stimuli to his brain made it almost impossible to breathe. The images of her face, her touch, her lips, hair, her whole presence, they all came together, mixing with visions of what could happen to her in a place that was a female version of Fox River. The merciless visions were coming and spreading uncontrollably, too overwhelming for Michael to comprehend and he could feel his whole body shaking before he bent forward and heaved. _

…_…_

_She was having a visito__r, which was odd because she has already seen Bruce that very morning. She had no idea who else could be visiting. Surely not her father. He would probably be still licking his political wounds gained through the reckless actions of his troublesome daughter. _

_Sara smirked wryly. Her father had no idea how ironic it all was. This whole time, he must be thinking how much he and his career were hurt by her actions and the simple fact they shared the same name. Well, in here, it was incredibly dangerous for her due to the same thing; sharing a name with _him_. _

_The __Governor's daughter doing time in a maximum security prison? Hell, that was definitely something to sneer and smear about. Make it a laugh, yeah. Such a spoiled little princess in this place? She ain't surviving for too long, they said, but she would serve her purpose; make a great example; a message to be sent out there. _

_It was supposed to be 'funny' at first. Laughing about the situation Sara found herself in was satisfactory for a couple of hours, maybe even days. However, it stopped being that 'funny' when the women started to realize that the Governor was the only one who could grant clemency to them, but who never did. Many of these women were mothers who didn't see their children or families for years due to their incarnation, and their anger suddenly turned towards Sara, the only person on which they could take their anger out. Then, it started to be dangerous._

_An elbow here, a "poke" there; it took only three days for Sara to give up trying to count the numerous bruises and lacerations. Again, ironically, due to her popularity, she was quick to become 'friends' with the prison doctor, who, even more ironically, happened to be a young, relatively handsome man. Nothing like Michael though._

_Sara sighed. God, how did she only missed __him. When she became particularly desperate, Sara though of him. How _he_ mastered to survive a place like Fox River. Surprisingly enough, it truly helped a little to ease the unbearable hollowness that occupied her chest for the last two weeks. She only hoped Michael was some place nice and safe, that he made it. _

_S__ara was brought from her musings as the C.O shoved her forwards forcefully because she was making 'slow progress' and when they finally reached the door, she uncuffed her and again pushed her roughly into the visitation room. _

"_Table eight." She shouted behind her, but it was not necessary, because Sara already spotted her visitor. He definitely couldn't be looked over. Sara paused for a second in her spot trying to control her breathing that stopped when she spotted him. Then, still slightly shocked at the sight of him, she walked slowly to the table and sat down._

"_Hello Sara." Said Lincoln calmly, measuring Sara up and down, his eyes finally stopping at the sight of the fading bruise at her cheek. She shifted uncomfortably under his look, leaving __hers to drop to the ground._

"_Not too popular with the girls in here, huh?" he asked in his strong gruff voice, but there was a new, at least to Sara, unfamiliar tender edge to his voice. She gave a wry smile._

"_Well, not many politician daughters make it here, so yeah, I am kind of a spectacle." She breathed out nervously and looked at him again, this time not yielding to his look._

"_You scared?" Lincoln asked her thoughtfully. _

"_Shitless." She answered with a __small laugh that sent chills down Lincoln's spine._

"_But let's not talk about my sorry ass. How's Michael?" She asked without preamble. Visitation time was too short to waste on doing silly small talk. He eyed her, pondering about what version to give her. He decided for the honest one; she heard enough lies from the two of them._

"_Devastated." He breathed. "The news about you being imprisoned hit him hard." He uttered and saw something in her look break. When she started talking again, however, she was all composed again. _

"_Well, there's no need for that. I'm here as a result of my own choices." She said conversationally, but then added in a more gentle tone: "Choices I do not regret." Her expression was earnest and Lincoln only nodded somewhat shamefacedly._

"_I am sorry it ended like this for you. I even haven't had the chance to thank you for everything you have done for us. For me. So for what it's worth; _thank you._" He said fairly humbly._

"_You're welcome." She replied, her look softening momentarily. "I am happy for you, you can finally start over. You deserve that." _

"_Thank you." He didn't say more and Sara knew they were both thinking the same._

"_Where is he?" She __asked quietly, returning to the subject that burned her tongue and mind to be explored deeper._

"_South." Lincoln replied and she nodded, understanding. "Good. I hope he is not planning on doing anything stupid like let's say…returning to Chicago. He is still a wanted man." While she was talking, her look was piercing Lincoln's eyes for the truth and he just admired how well this woman knew his brother after only so little time they had the chance to spend together. _

"_The lawyer of mine, Bruce Bennett; I asked him to take Michael's case. He says it shouldn't take long for him to clear Michael of all charges currently being held against him. You should contact him for more information." She was talking business now, and something in her manner told Lincoln she was intentionally emotionally detaching herself from the subject. "After that's done; you, your son and Michael can start over and mayb…"_

"_Sara, stop it!" Lincoln interrupted firmly, refusing to let her bring her train of thought to the end. "There is no way in hell my brother is going to leave things like this and walk away. If you know him at least a bit, you must know this." She dropped her gaze. Of course she knew._

"_There is nothing he can do to help me now. At least nothing legally." she uttered and raised her eyes to meet his, the firm determination mixed with despair hitting Lincoln hard._

"_Lincoln, don't let him do anything stupid. Please! I'm here because I wanted you and him to be free. It would be in vain if he now did something rash that would bring him straight to the beginning. You understand what I'm saying?" Her look was now pleading, her eyes narrowed in concentration. Lincoln sighed._

"_Damn Sara, course I do. But you know how my brother's mind operates. He won't let this matter rest. Not until he exhausts every chance in this world to help you out." He watched her blink rapidly for a few times, her eyes wandering the walls with a sudden interest, and Lincoln left her some space before he continued._

"_I__f it's some comfort to you, he doesn't plan on returning just yet, at least not until he is cleared from all charges." There was a clear relief in her face. "But when that one is off the table, he _will_ return and do just about everything he can to help you." She averted her gaze nodding slightly, the conflict in her all too evident._

"_Listen, he asked me to tell you something." _

_Her eyes snatched up in a split second._

"_What?" __She breathed. There sure was anticipation and eagerness in her voice._

"_I don't know what it means, but he said to ask of you the same thing he asked of you the day he stole the keys from the infirmary." It was obvious that__ she immediately knew what he was talking about, because her eyes widened, and this time, she couldn't stop the tears from springing to her eyes. _'Wait for me.'_The words were burned in the back of her head, even after all this time still echoing in her ears as if she heard them just now for the first time._

_Then, as if caught at something she shouldn't be doing, she shifted in her spot restlessly.__ "Tell him that…that my answer hasn't changed." There was a slight tremble in her voice as she hoped Michael would understand and not take the worst of her answer. Lincoln eyed her suspiciously, wanting only too much to know what this all was about; but it was obviously something too private neither of them wanted to share with him and he didn't want to pry either. Instead, he directed his gaze at the big bruise marking her cheek. _

"_I'__ll come to visit again." He said and she nodded a bit too carelessly. _

"_Be careful." Again, she only nodded. "Anything __I should pass onto him?" He asked his last question and she seemed to contemplate it for a second._

"_Tell him I regret nothing. And that if I had the choice, I would do nothing differently." Lincoln acknowledged her answer, his respect for her growing. "We'll do everything to help you." Lincoln said, the '_he'_ changing to a '_we'_ all of a sudden._

"_Hey Tancredi, your time's up!" The guard who escorted her to the visitation appeared in the doorway, stamping her foot impatiently. Sara got up and flashed Lincoln a slightly apologetic smile before she left. _

… _…_

_24 hours could make all the difference__ in this world; she heard that before. Now, she knew from her own experience. _

_Yesterday, Bruce told her Michael was cleared of all charges. He was finally free and she coul__dn't be happier and maybe even a bit proud with herself. _

_Today, __she was lying at a County-general hospital in Chicago, where she has been flown to after a fellow prisoner stabbed her in her abdomen in the yard. Reason? The 'Governor's brat' was looking at her fellow prisoner the 'wrong way'. _

_God was she in massive pain;__ the hurt flesh of her stomach burning excruciatingly, but she refused any more morphine than absolutely necessary. It would be only too easy falling into her old ways. Especially in the place she would soon be returning into. _

_The nurses left the button to self-induce morphine at her bed and she hated the way she was eyeing it almost hungrily every few moments. She wished it was completely and only due to the serious pain she was experiencing at the moment and not due to the craving feeling to escape from the face of earth for the shortest of moments. _

_Sara sighed. Two C.O.'s were positioned in front of her door, her right wrist cuffed to the bed railing. She suppressed a roll of her eyes. As if she could run anywhere with half her gut sliced into two. _

_There was a knock on the door and she turned her head to it in surprise. She wasn't expecting anybody. The door opened not long after and Bruce's head popped in. "May I?" He asked shyly and she waved him in with a big smile. Anything serving as a distraction from the morphine button was welcomed and highly appreciated. And Bruce was so much more than a simple distraction anyway. He was the closest of a family she now had. _

"_I was allowed__ in due to my status as your lawyer." He said, explaining himself although it was not necessary or important to Sara. "I hope I'm not disturbing you at anything." He smiled at her and she smiled back. They both knew it was a rhetorical question. He closed the distance laying one hand on her shoulder giving it a light squeeze while bringing his face down to kiss her cheek. "I really hope my timing is not inconvenient." _

"_Not at all. And you definitely don't need to apologize for coming to visit me. It's my pleasure." Sara replied with a genuine smile. _

"_There is something I would like to talk to you about." He was smiling, but Sara couldn't help the feeling there was something strange about Bruce today. He was apparently very nervous._

"_Are you alright?" She asked with concern._

"_Yeah, I am good. The thing is, we have only a couple of minutes and I would rather not waste them with my babbling. I was able to arrange a visitation for you. Convinced the C.O's it was connected to your case, which, when you think about it, pretty much is." Sara was thoroughly confused now. She wasn't sure she was liking what she was hearing. Then the thought struck her. _

"_Wait, you mean, as in...now?" Her eyes widened as Bruce only nodded and she couldn't help but hope, at least for the slightest of seconds that maybe, just maybe, her father changed his mind paying her a visit at last._

"_If you are willing, that is." He added, his eyes slipping down to stop at the covers where the heavy bandages covered her wound. __Even if she wasn't willing, was there a way to refuse?__ Sara only nodded, subconsciously bracing herself for the worst._

_Bruce called __into the hallway and Sara's heart stopped. Slowly, almost hesitantly, Michael walked into the room, his look coy and slightly pained. _

_Sara felt her mouth drop open, but she couldn't bring herself to move. It was Michael, God, it was Michael, standing here, only a few feet away, looking the worst she has ever seen him, but still _him_. At first, she almost panicked at the thought he was back in states, coming here so openly, then she remembered that only yesterday Bruce told her his case was already closed, Michael exonerated. Damn, the first second he could Michael must have jumped on the first plane from Panama to be able to meet her, she thought and her heart squeezed. _

"_Hi." He whispered, his eyes never leaving her, scanning and sizing her up and down. She couldn't help but unglue her gaze from him for the shortest of moments, shooting a look at Bruce, who understood her question but only squirmed in his spot._

"_I'__m sorry, I can't leave. It's one of the conditions of the visit." He said but turned around to gaze intently out of the window, giving the couple as much space and privacy as possible. Sara returned her eyes to Michael who was still standing at the door making no attempt to come closer. As if a veil has been lifted from her eyes, she understood; he was waiting for _her_ invitation. She outstretched her hand towards him quickly, careful not to stir any more than necessary in her place, minding her injury. She could see the huge relief in his eyes as he quickly stepped to the side of her bed taking her cuffed hand in his and sinking to a chair__ standing next to the bed. Desperately clutching her right hand in his left, he brought his other to her face, stroking his fingers over a new batch of dark bruising in the most gentle of __touches._

"_Hi." Sara breathed back finally finding her voice again and at that exact moment, she saw he was undone. She saw the tears hit his eyes, his handsome face contorting into a painful grimace. He dropped his head to his chest, letting out a desperate sob. She could see he wanted to hug her, but he was obviously too scared not to hurt her, so he simply kept clutching her hand almost painfully, while the other rested at the nape of her neck as if in search for some balance or support._

_She couldn't watch him like this anymore, damn be her injury. She leaned forward gulping down a moan of pain and hugged him with all her strength. He buried his face into the crook of her neck, crying so desperately as she has never seen him before. His mouth came near her ear, and she could feel his hot breath caress her lobe._

"_I'__m _so_ sorry…Please forgive me…" He begged her and she wanted to reply back, tell him there was nothing to be sorry for, nothing to forgive, but the sudden lump in her throat prevented her from doing so. "…I love you. I love you so much." He breathed out, clutching to her for dear life and yet still able not to press harder than necessary. _

_Sara felt her own eyes wet. God, she wanted to say so much, to comfort him, _so much_ it almost hurt. She run her free hand over his scalp in a loving caress._

"_I love you too." She whispered back, grateful she had found her voice again. "Don't you ever dare to say you're sorry again." She added almost angrily, yet her voice was so gentle and quiet she was sure no one else could hear. Not that it was important. Bruce was a friend and he long ago knew about her feelings for this man. Still, those words felt right only for him to hear._

_It took a couple of moments for the two of them to calm down and when they finally withdrew from one another, the gape left between them was still almost non-existent. Michael brought __his hands to the sides of her face resting his forehead against hers, squeezing his eyes shut. _

"_I swear to God you won't return to that place ever again." He whispered resolutely and when the words sunk it, she felt a strong rush of panic rise up in her chest. She wanted to protest, she wanted to beg him not to do anything rash, but before she had the time to voice her concerns about his statement, he already brought his lips to hers; entangling her in such a gentle loving kiss it was all she could do not to start crying again._

God, it was not a dream. Michael was truly here, with her, in her arms. It was still too unbelievable and yet it felt like the most natural thing in this world.

_Finally __Michael reluctantly pulled away, still gently stroking the sides of her face not able to stop touching her. They were looking at one another for a moment, simply indulging in the first moment after being separated for so long yet again. Michael watched Sara intently, his eyes skimming through her features, taking in every tiny detail of her too pale skin; as well as too dark bruising. Finally, he brought his hand down to capture her cuffed wrist, gently massaging the soft reddened skin, knowing exactly where she hurt without his eyes ever leaving her face. _

_There was a __light cough coming from the far end of the room, Bruce obviously feeling uncomfortable for breaking their moment like this, but time was merciless. Michael turned his head shooting a short glance at the older man, acknowledging his subtle hint but still feeling almost terrified at the though of leaving Sara behind once again. He turned all of his attention back to the woman lying still in front of him, still because being stabbed, _Godstabbed_, just the day before. There was not time for that now, however. _

"_How long will you be here?" He asked, his voice gaining some of the familiar strength and stability she recognized. _

"_I'__m not sure, tomorrow or the day after tomorrow, then they'll escort me to the sick bay back in the prison." She answered and saw his mind already working heatedly. She shot a concerned look to Bruce. "Why, what do you plan on doing?" She asked, her voice betraying all the anxiety she was feeling at the moment. _

_Michael only caressed her face and hair once more. "Don't worry about that." He said in a husky voice. "It's completely legal." He added and it truly took some of her concerns away._

"_How long will you stay in the sick bay?" Michael asked anew. Sara contemplated his question for a moment, trying to remember to rules at Fox River that would probably apply to her too to give him the most accurate answer as possible. "A week. Maybe a bit more if the wound got infected." She saw him wince but he didn't comment. _

"_Alright." He nodded at last, closing his eyes._

"_Why do you need to know this?" Sara asked, worry once more winning the better of her. She hated to be left in the dark again. Michael seemed to have sensed her discomfort. _

"_Don't worry. Please. Now is not the time, but Bruce will explain everything to you later, I promise." He replied, massaging the back of her neck, his thumb toying with her ear lovingly._

_She wanted to protest, she wanted him to tell her more. But in the end, she only nodded._

"_We need to go Michael." Said Bruce in a low voice and Sara couldn't help but notice with interest that Bruce was on first name terms with Michael. _

"_I know." He __breathed out heavily, the mere words paining him more he though possible, his eyes never leaving Sara's face. He kissed her one more time before pulling away and bringing his slightly trembling hands to hover over her stomach, never daring to lay them down over her wound._

"_You must be in so much pain." he said and Sara could feel his attempt to hide his own anxiety in his voice._

"_I won't take any more morphine than necessary." Sara said reassuringly and hated the slight trace of self-doubt in her voice. His eyes widened in panic as the possibility that he didn't realize before dawned on him with huge force. "I've survived worse." She added quickly, the back of her hand caressing his cheek lovingly. Although she could sense their time quickly coming to an end, she couldn't bring herself to let her uncuffed hand leave his face. _

"_I love you." She whispered and his eyes glassed over once again._

"_I love you too Sara." He replied tearfully and before she knew it, he pulled away completely and was out the door. _

"_I'__ll come later and explain." Promised Bruce before closing the door behind him and they were gone. _

…_…_

_He did as he promised__, and later that afternoon, he returned; alone this time. He explained every detail, although he knew it wasn't easy for her to hear._

_Michael made a deal with the FBI. He would find and deliver T-bag, as well as D.B. Cooper's 5 million along with him. On top of that, he would make a full confession, explaining his whole plan and giving up all his secrets as to how he accomplished to break out of Fox River. All in exchange for her freedom._

_Sara listened intently and felt sick. Michael promised to catch and bring back _T-Bag_, for Christ's sake. She knew that T-Bag was one of Michael's biggest regrets and sources of guilt. He was for both of them. Still, the thought of Michael chasing after Bagwell, knowing what she knew about that man and what he was capable of, all in exchange for her freedom; that was a sickening feeling._

_It took him six__ days. She couldn't believe the speed with which he accomplished his mission, but she suspected without much doubt it had to do something with the time of her return to Gen-Pop nearing. _

_The afternoon Bruce called her to inform her Michael was back with Bagwell, whole and unscathed, she cried herself to sleep from relief._

_With Bagwell, also D.B.Coopers five million returned, or better said, what was left of them. The FBI were all too happy to have another two closed cases off their hands, but as much as Michael was exhausted, he didn't take a break after his frantic chase after T-Bag. Within the next 24 hours, he gave a full confession to everything the authorities wanted to know; how he got his hands on the blueprints, how he tattooed them onto his skin, how he proceeded with his plan. He was exceptionally strong about stating Sara not knowing about anybody else's escape but his and Lincoln's._

_Now was time for the FBI to keep their part of the deal. Before she knew it, Sara was being rushed to her cell to collect the little possession she had with her and after signing a couple of documents she had scarcely time to read through properly released immediately, not even having the time to notice the angry and mocking shouts from her former prison mates. Not that she would be too sad about that one in particular. _

_Michael and Bruce were waiting outside, but she only had eyes for one man that night. She was still exhausted, her wound healing properly but slowly, and Michael took her home, yes, home. In his small just rented apartment, she spent the next weeks relishing in the feeling of being cared for, by all possible means. It wasn't long before her injury completely healed when Michael asked about her possible expectations for her future. Asking with a tiny soul, if she even planned for a possible future for them, a future spent together. She couldn't do anything else then to shake her head in disbelief and kiss him in affirmation. _

_Time passed and s__he was slowly getting to know not only Michael, but his brother and nephew too. And with more than a little surprise, it didn't take her long to view herself as a member of their family. And God did it feel good being able to call these three special men family. Actually, four men. Bruce was being great help not only as her lawyer, but also as a friend. She'd know his family since she was little, Bruce's wife being almost a mother to Sara, their children best childhood friends. Sara was more than relieved Bruce and his family didn't break contact with her after all that happened, because sadly, they were one of the very few. _

_Life was slowly getting back to some sort of normal again. It was kind of strange considering everything that happened to them. Not to mention the somehow…turbulent start of her relationship with Michael. They moved from deceiving but attraction to anger and guilt, to rushed confessions of love to loosing one another only to find their way back, and finally moving in together even before the dust around their feet started to settle. But the most strangest thing was, it seemed to work for them. _

_Not long after Sara's release from prison and still while she was in recovery staying home, Michael returned from a job interview kissing her enthusiastically, proudly announcing he found a job in a new construction firm lead by two brothers. They couldn't afford to pay much, but it was enough to get through and what was more important, it was work in his field of study. She couldn't have been happier for him, knowing how much it meant for Michael to occupy his mind with work as well as feeling to be 'contributing' to the society. _

_Much later and after a round of fierce convincing of Michael who was double-checking with her doctors, he finally, though a bit unenthusiastically, agreed to her proposal to find work herself. She was already growing bored, always being kind of a workaholic herself. It was a rather small clinic in the poorer part of the city and though she could see Michael being not all too happy with the city area she would be working in, he didn't dare to oppose himself against her. To say she was grateful would be an understatement for she didn't have the strength to fight with him on the subject anymore but still needed to work at least as much as he did. Sara also knew that it would bring a sense of normalcy into her life once again. _

_In this whole time, her father __didn't contact her once. He completely withdrew himself from her and her life. The only chance she got to see him was on television and it always left her feeling down and bitter and betrayed and fuming all at the same time. Frank Tancredi was never a good father and she never expected much from him. But distancing himself from her at the time she needed him most in her life stung and hurt more than Sara was happy to admit._

_TBC _

AN - Ok, I take checks, but comments will do too. ;)


	4. The Art of Deal

**Chapter 4 - The Art of Deal**

Sara was just putting the last touches to her make-up before she took the diamond earrings – her mother's earrings – out of their box. Her grown auburn hair was styled simply into loose curls framing her face, her dress elegant yet hugging her in all the right places. She smiled at her own reflection as she put the earrings in, hoping – _knowing_ – Michael was going to love the sight of her this evening. She was well aware of how he felt about her hair when styled into loose, unruly curls he couldn't help but toy with.

Sara shook her head to clear it of some very vivid flashbacks of lying naked together with Michael, her hair playing a major role in this particular memory. She instead looked at her watch, a grimace wrinkling her face. Michael was running late and if he wouldn't arrive within the next 5 minutes, they were going to be late for Bruce's birthday party.

She walked to the living room, finding her cell and was just about to speed-dial Michael when the phone buzzed into life of its own accord, the all too familiar name appearing on the screen making Sara instantly smile. She picked up.

"Hey, where are you? It's getting late, so I hope you are not stuck in some serious traffic or we're going to be late. And you know how Bruce loves punctuality." She asked, half-amused, half-reprimanding. At the other end of the line, there came a heavy sigh and instantly her heart sank.

"You won't make it at all, will you?" Her smile faltered as cold dread crept into her chest. _You couldn't do this alone! _

She heard a sharp intake of breath and then another deep sigh; then Michael's somewhat strangled voice finally resounded from the other end of the line.

"I am so…_so_ sorry, Sara." His voice was laced with genuine misery, the words of apology pleading her to understand he wanted, yet couldn't come. Sara wished to be able to offer more understanding and compassion, but her mind was already panicking with the thought of having to face the party - and her father, for that matter – on her own.

"But Michael, my father will be there..." She started objecting ridiculously, her voice feeble, her child-like attempt to change his mind sounding foolish even to her own ears.

"I know." And his tone couldn't be filled with more guilt and remorse. "And trust me, if there was another way to change things…" A deep sigh could be heard again. "It's my bosses Sara. They want me to stay overnight to work on an unexpected project they need to have finished by the morning. I will need _hours_ to complete it. Please, understand, I really wish to be able to come with you tonight, but I simply can't."

There was silence, Michael obviously waiting for her response. She tried to reason with herself, knowing this wasn't something Michael had chosen – _over her_, she couldn't help the involuntary thought - but something unavoidable and last minute. Yet bitterness traced her next words when she said in a cool voice: "I understand. It's your work. I will be ok on my own."

"Sara…" he pleaded, not buying it for a second, "…it's not that I had a choice and chose work over you, you know that." He hit a sour spot and Sara interrupted sharply. "It's alright Michael! It truly is." – _Except it wasn't. _- "I am a grown woman and I shouldn't be afraid of facing my own father. It's ridiculous I know." In addition, she managed a small laugh that unfortunately came out cold and distant even to her own ears. She could hear not only Michael's breathing on the other end of the line but also the sound of the tiny wheels in his brain working on enormous speed in order to come up with a solution to this sticky situation. All of a sudden, she felt terrible for punishing him with guilt for her own insecurities.

"You know what? Don't worry about it. Honestly." She stated resolutely. "I will congratulate Bruce for the both of us, he will understand. As for my father, god, he won't be the only person on the party, right? I will catch you later, letting you know how things were playing out at the party, ok?"

"Sara, I know saying I am so sorry won't make…" he uttered again but she really didn't want him to feel bad about it anymore. By this time, Sara had already regretted a million times she was making such a fuss about this.

"I know." She stated firmly but gently. "I'm gonna go now. Love you." She added honestly, although she couldn't help but hang up on him before he could utter those special words back to her.

What was wrong with her? Why was she angry with Michael? He _did_ have objective reasons, after all.

It wasn't so much the individual event as the pattern that irritated her so much. The feeling of being let down at the last minute by the people who mattered most was a part of her life she hated to reflect upon. And yet, she regretted hanging up on Michael as soon as she had done it.

She sighed, looking into the mirror at her own reflection. Her expression had lost its spark, that was immediately obvious, but she didn't care anymore. The one person to appreciate it wouldn't be attending the party tonight.

Immediately, she mentally slapped herself. _God,_ _get a grip Sara! It's just one evening. You are going __to the__ birthday party of a man who is almost a father to you__;__ you like and have a close relationship with most of the people attending and __it will__ be nice, even without Michael. Besides, Bruce __deserves better than__ you being all sulky this evening, for this evening is NOT about you._

She plastered her most convincing smile onto her face and looked anew at the reflection. _Now that looks better, girl!_

Forty-five minutes later, she was ringing the bell of the large mansion, feeling once again small and lost without Michael's steady and familiar frame beside her.

_Damn__ Sara, when did __you become__ this needy and depend__e__nt? _Sara had always considered herself to be an independent person and she was rightfully proud of it. Obviously, a lot of things had changes since she met Michael Scofield. He was such a rock and certainty in her daily life she already started to take him for granted on every occasion.

_Well, he __isn't here tonight__. So get a grip and behave like an adult, for Christ's sake! Michael won't be holding your hand through every fucking event in your life._

The sound of an opening door brought her back from her reverie and a politely smiling housekeeper greeted Sara while inviting her in. Sara handed over her coat with a quiet '_thank you', _offering the other woman an appreciative smile before being lead towards the large dining room. She was late and it seemed like she was the last one to join the gathering.

There were about thirty people around the table quietly chatting to each other, the plates in front of them empty – _Damn, they are waiting for __you__!_ Most of them were members of Bruce's family, the rest of the guests consisted of some close friends and work colleagues. With her stomach churning, Sara spotted her father.

Before she could gather his notice, Bruce was on his feet, outstretching his hands to her in enthusiastic greeting, a huge smile dancing over his lips.

"Sara, there you are! We had begun to worry you two wouldn't make it!" beamed Bruce at the sight of her and Sara felt a warm wash of welcome sweep her. She took his hands while he kissed both of her cheeks.

"I am very sorry I'm late, I had to take the L-train and then hail a cab to get here." She said apologetically and saw Bruce frowning momentarily; then look at her in question.

"Michael has the car." She added awkwardly in an attempt to make the older man understand the situation more swiftly. Only then did Bruce peek behind her, as if expecting to see somebody else too. Sara felt her face warm with the rush of blood. Bruce was a sweetheart, but sometimes, he could be pretty…_slow_.

"Michael couldn't make it. He is working late." She explained, this time leaving no room for misunderstanding, her polite apology accompanied by a light smile. Sara tried to keep her voice even, yet she could see it in Bruce's eyes, he wasn't one to be fooled. All of a sudden, he was too _quick_ at catching up.

"He sends his greetings and I shall wish you happy birthday for the both of us…" hastened Sara. "…so…Happy Birthday, Bruce!" finished Sara kindly, giving the man a light hug and a kiss on the cheek.

He returned her smile tenfold. "Thank you. Well, I am sorry Michael couldn't make it, but I still hope you will enjoy the evening."

Sara felt a stab of guilt, remembering her previous thoughts about this evening. _Of course she would enjoy the evening even without Michael, how could she think otherwise in the first place?_ She only smiled at Bruce in confirmation, though her eyes involuntarily wandered to her father. It surprised her how closely he was watching the two of them. To her greater surprise, Sara would swear to have caught a flicker of irritation bordering on dislike in her father's eyes._ What, for heaven's sake, did she do this time?_

Oblivious to the visual exchange between father and daughter, Bruce gently took Sara's elbow, leading her towards the huge table. All eyes were trained on her but the looks were friendly and welcoming, Bruce's family greeting her quietly yet enthusiastically. She smiled, making eye contact with each member at the table in turn. In fact, the only eyes she directly avoided and skipped were her fathers.

Sitting down at her place, she couldn't help but feel a mixture of regret and annoyance when noticing the only empty place at the table being beside her. They could have such a lovely evening if not for those idiots, Michael's bosses.

Well, what was done was done, she couldn't do anything about it now. She could either enjoy herself in pleasant company or sulk all night long. Sara chose the first option.

The evening went surprisingly well, until her father - _of course_ – felt the need to publicly undermine her in front of all guests. At least it felt that way to Sara, for her father started asking for exact reasons - in his most polite and detached business voice she so much hated – why she came alone tonight, "_and God help her, __by means of public transport"_.

"Michael's working late. We have one car and he takes it to work. I don't mind going by train. In fact, it's rather entertaining. Maybe you should give it a try one day too, dad." She quipped and returned her fathers look challengingly.

Michael truly _was_ working, so there was nothing to be ashamed of in the first place. Yet Frank's look clearly stated he was disbelieving Sara's explanation and it was that amused question mark in his eyes that provoked Sara further. It all but screamed – "_T__rouble__ in paradise?_"

"Ah, I see." Frank said jovially at last. "If that's the case, then it's of course honorable." he said, raising his wine glass to the room, yet Sara didn't believe a word he spoke.

The dinner went along without further incident and Sara grew more comfortable, engaging in a conversation with Bruce's daughter about some medical problem her son was experiencing; the concerned mother seeking advice by a family friend who also happened to be a doctor.

Shortly after, however, Sara heard a familiar name being mentioned and she couldn't help but break off the chat with her friend to tune in to the conversation Bruce, her father and another political friend were having.

"Of course, those services aren't anywhere near cheap these days, and I wouldn't want for the taxpayers to pay more than absolutely necessary. I am considering picking a company that's rather new in business yet starts to build a good name and reputation. What do you think, Bruce?" the other politician asked at the end of his little speech.

"Well, I heard '_The_ _Connoly_ _Brothers' _are getting quickly into business. They are fairly new, but I heard some of their projects are pretty impressive and they start to get a name in Chicago's architectural and structural circles." At this, Bruce's eyes rose and met Sara's over the table, giving the young woman a conspirational wink.

Frank Tancredi gave a small scornful snort. "God Bruce, where do you get your information? From what I heard, the _Connoly's _are maniacs with insane architectural plans yet who cannot built as much as homeless shelter. And you would entrust them with a new Administration Building for George's department? Jeez, Bruce!" Frank's chest bubbled with laughter.

Sara felt her blood boil, her hands momentarily tearing the paper napkin her fingers were playing with into two pieces. She cleared her throat loudly in an attempt to get the men's attention.

"And where exactly did _you_ get such information, dad?" Sara asked in her most even and controlled voice, though her insides were boiling with rage. She had no doubt her father was doing this on purpose, knowing very well that Michael was working for the _Connoly Brothers _at the moment_._ Figuratively as well as literally, at this _very_ moment.

"Dear, isn't that the company Michael is working for?" Asked Bruce's wife with kind interest, not realizing she had drawn the attention of the whole room to Sara's and Frank's interaction. Sara merely nodded politely and gave the woman a measured smile. The atmosphere of the room had changed, however, cooled, and all ears were now directed upon Frank Tancredi and his daughter.

"People talk, sweetheart." Answered Frank condescendingly, his smile full of false sweetness that had Sara gritting her teeth. She knew how to play this game and she wasn't about to yield.

"Well, I don't know who your _people_ are, but I've seen some of Michael's work and I think it's rather impressive." _Impressive_ was also the broad polite smile she flashed him back.

"Sure. Yet, you are not an expert there, are you Sara? You are a doctor of medicine, so how could you possible judge a work like that properly?" Her father was challenging her now not only by his words, but also his look. Sara felt the rage bubble up inside her chest, her eyes narrowing on him. _Why on earth did he do this? Why was he undermining everything she ever did or said?_ His words stung the more because he was putting down Michael and his hard work in front of all these people, half of whom didn't even know Michael personally. It was a cowardly step to take, with Michael not even present to defend himself.

Sara was just about to retort back, when Bruce cleared his throat and she snapped back to reality, realizing almost too late where she was and what she was just about to do. She felt shame as well as anger at herself for letting her father provoke her into an argument so easily, especially when she was merely a visitor in this house. She had hoped she was past this stage. She closed her eyes, imagining Michael's hand squeezing hers under the table in silent encouragement.

_Maybe it was better for him he couldn't make it, after all._

"Only time will tell." Said Bruce's wife good-naturedly, smiling at Sara. "Yet from what I know about Michael, I wouldn't be too surprised if he made it onto the cover of some fancy structural engineering magazine in the scope of a few years." She proclaimed loudly to the whole room, sending a conspirational grin over at Sara who felt a huge rush of gratitude for the older woman.

Sara knew Michael had charmed his way into Mrs. Bennet's heart almost instantly after meeting her, yet this level of fondness expressed for Michael, was almost overwhelming for her. She returned the smile warmly, once again thanking heavens for being in a 'friendly' environment where she could count on help despite being helplessly exposed to her father's vitriolic comments.

The doorbell rang and Bruce's face was one of surprise. He was just about to get up when his wife stopped him. "Wait dear, let Joanna take that. We are not expecting anyone else tonight so it'll probably be just some salesmen. Joanna will send him away."

However, within the minute the housekeeper was back, announcing the arrival of another guest. "Mr. Bennet, Mr. Scofield is here to see you. Shall I invite him in?"

There was a moment of silence. The only noise Sara could hear was the wild thumping and fluttering of her own heart in her ears.

"Well, that I call perfect timing." Smiled Bruce starting to get up again, yet Sara stopped him with a light gesture asking him to wait, before silently excusing herself from the table.

The entrance hall was dimly lit, yet Sara could instantly see the misery on Michael's face. She hated that look on him, especially when he had obviously pulled off all sorts of magic to come here at last.

"Hope I am not inexcusably late." He quietly suggested to her, but she only crossed the space separating them and snuck her arms around him, burying her face in the crook of his neck. All kinds of emotion were washing over her, the combination wetting her eyes momentarily. He squeezed her harder against him, then releasing her slightly in order to look into her face.

"You're not!" said Sara, grasping his face to give him a soft peck. "But what are you doing here? I thought you needed hours to work on that project of yours!" She said in surprise, her eyes searching his for an answer. She felt his lips brush against the top of her head.

"I still do. But there are some things in life that are more important than work." He said quietly, his hand brushing back some of her unruly curls. His eyes deep and piercing and – _God!_- expressing so much, it brought a lump to Sara's throat. They clearly stated in all honesty, that no matter what, he would always choose _her_ over anything else.

"Thank you." She whispered emotionally, burying her face into his chest once again, and Michael knew her gratitude reached beyond the simple act of coming tonight. "God, I am so sorry for being such a cranky bitch on the phone earlier." she added quietly and felt him smile against the side of her forehead.

"It's ok. I am used to it by now. You act that way every month…" Michael's smile merely grew upon receiving a quiet indignant _'Hey!'_ and more than a light poke into the ribs.

"You manage on your own so far?" He asked earnestly, the playful tone of his voice gone, making her heart swell with love for him.

"Yeah. And now that you are here, _more_ than fine." She quipped and smiled into the kiss Michael planted onto her lips. Even such a chaste touch of his lips on hers did odd things to her stomach, causing her toes to curl, her spine to arch.

"Thank you." She repeated in a murmur against his lips, his arms creeping around her body once again.

A soft cough could be heard from behind and both of them jumped apart. It was Bruce smiling knowingly, a little awkwardness showing on his face.

"Seems like I have the worst timing in the world, huh?" He gave the couple a wink. Crossing the room, he shook his hands with Michael, exchanging a couple of polite words before guiding the couple back into the room.

"Seems like Michael made it at last." announced Bruce cheerily, entering the dining room again. Quickly, before entering the room and its full light again, Michael grasped Sara's hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze before letting go.

Sara didn't even know how the late evening glided into night. Enjoying the conversation with Bruce's family, she was comforted by Michael's hand holding hers discreetly under the table throughout the dinner.

Frank once again couldn't help but ask a few well-considered questions of Michael – about his job, about his brother, about his 'plans' for future, as if trying to catch him at a lie. Sara only smiled proudly when Michael managed to answer all the questions with quiet dignity, gaining a lot of respect at the table - except from one person, of course.

What made Sara's heart swell with bittersweet emotion for Michael was how hard he was trying to please her father. Which was - given the nature of their relationship - more than admirable. Sara knew his guarded attitude towards her father was strongly connected to Michael's guilt for – as he often called it despite Sara's protests - 'destroying the remains of their relationship'. Yet she suspected there was also another reason for his hard efforts to win her father over. He wanted to make amendments; as a man, as a brother, as a lover, as a son. The sight of his attempts bouncing off her father made it almost hard for Sara to breathe. After another round of especially malicious questions, Sara decided to break the unspoken code – _this was, after all, an informal gathering – _and graced Michael with a sweet, lingering kiss, right in the face of her father. She felt almost giddy, remembering doing a similar thing to her father only years earlier – only now she was kissing a better man.

Just before they were about to leave, Bruce asked Michael on his opinion about something concerning the construction of their arbor, and the two men walked into the garden, quietly chatting about props, supports and centre of gravity.

Sara stayed at the back balcony facing the garden, enjoying the chilling nightly breeze, comfortably watching Michael's silhouette disappearing in the dark.

"You look lovely today." She started, turning around to find her father admiring her. "You actually look a lot like your mother, too." Frank added, joining her at the balcony, leaning against the stone railing beside Sara, whose gaze returned to the spot where Michaels frame disappeared just moments before.

"And you behaved pretty much like always." Said Sara bitterly, sarcasm dripping from each of her words. "You really had a good time trying to put down Michael in front of an audience, didn't you?" Her voice was starting to tremble with rising anger.

"You know that was not my intention." Said Frank nonchalantly yet Sara cut him off.

"Save it, dad. Your actions speak for themselves."

"What is _that_ supposed to mean?" asked Frank, his voice raising an octave.

"Oh, c'mon dad, stop playing dumb! You weren't there for me for over a year, repudiating me publicly as well as privately. I got _stabbed, _I almost bled out in the prison yard and yet you never so much as visited when I was in the hospital! And afterwards? You _never_ even cared what would happen to me once I was released, if there was a place I could go, if there was someone who would look after me while my injury healed!" Her voice was raising now.

"And you know what? Probably you wished there truly were no one else I could turn to, so you could expect me to crawl back onto your doorstep and _beg_ for your forgiveness but no, dad, you miscalculated, because there actually was someone who _cared._ Someone who cared deeply, someone who took me in and who looked after me and who didn't expect anything in return, someone who didn't bargain to bend me to his will but someone who showed me unconditional love I never experienced from _you_!" She was hissing her words, not daring to break into a full shout when Michael and Bruce were near, any sound spilling easily into the garden. Sara was on the verge of tears, yet she wouldn't stop now.

"And now, over a _year_ later, you all of a sudden return as if nothing happened, surprising me and Michael in the park, calling me at work, spying on us and ruining my birthday by reminding me of things I want to forget. And on top of all that, when I saw you beaming with happiness while mocking Michael's hard work and our relationship, that for the record dad, is the best I ever had and will have - now what exactly did you expect me to think about all of this, _dad_?!" Sara finished, her breathing labored.

She was looking directly into her fathers eyes, hers unyielding and blazing with fire. And this time, it was Frank Tancredi who first broke the contact. He was quiet for a moment, then heavily leaning against the railing, looking into the dark.

"I know I didn't make the smartest decisions in the past couple of months. And I know there is probably a lot you can hold against me, rightfully. Still Sara, you are my _daughter_ and despite everything you may think of me, I still love you. Whether you like it or not."

"You certainly have a twisted way of showing it." Spat Sara bitterly, unable to stop the words. She looked into the darkness of the garden again, noticing a soft light moving slowly somewhere far ahead.

"And you wonder, Sara?" Started Frank anew, yet this time, his voice gaining a little of it strength and anger again. "Tell me Sara, tell me, how many fathers would embrace the idea of their only daughters dating a prisoner, for Christ's sake!"

"Michael is a good man and has proven so on many occasions." said Sara in a low voice, shaking her head while her eyes challenged her father once again. The ignited flame in them almost matched Sara's now.

"A _good_ man? You call that a man who made you break the law, who drove you to relapse on a morphine overdose that had you almost die on me, a man who carelessly jeopardized your life on many occasions…" Sara shut her eyes and started to shake her head in denial at her fathers words, "…a man who left you go into prison while he himself sailed off to Panama or some god-forsaken southern country with his criminal of a brother! I mean, give me a break, Sara! You've had all kinds of miserable boyfriends you believed were actually 'good guys' in the past, but _this one_, that's too much of an overkill even for you!"

"Are you finished?" asked Sara, her voice chilled to ice.

"No." Said Frank enraged, "_That_ man…" he flailed his hand pointing somewhere into the darkness, not even trying to lower his voice, "…is _not_ worth of my daughter! He simply doesn't deserve you!"

"Love isn't about '_deserving'_ or '_being worth'_." Sara said quietly. "But if you must put it into such terms of consideration, very well then. I was worth precisely _5 million_ plus putting his own life at risk to him, all in exchange for my freedom." said Sara, anger once again burning inside of her. "How much is my life or freedom worth to _you_?" She spat. "Name it! Call the price! Brand me like a piece of cattle, dad! For heaven's sake, put a price-tag on me stating I am worth more money to _you_ than him if that's what makes you sleep better at night, but let me tell you that I couldn't care less!"

At this, Frank actually fell quiet, a soft look touching his eyes.

"If you ask me what you are worth to me Sara, then the answer is – everything_. _You are _everything_ to me, Sara. Everything I've got left." He uttered at last. "I know I don't always show it in the right way, but you are the only person I've got left and love." There was a slight tremble in his voice and the boldness and honesty in his voice fell onto Sara like a wall of bricks. For a second, she didn't know what to think of all this, but despite the unpleasant feeling of getting trapped, being emotionally blackmailed, she also couldn't stop her heart fluttering with the tiniest flicker of a child's joy at his words of appreciation.

She shook her head before turning it again towards the darkness, noticing the small soft light slowly moving back in the direction of the house.

"Unfortunately for both of us dad, there is one thing we obviously cannot agree upon." She uttered quietly, her eyes unsuccessfully searching for Michael's familiar frame in the dark.

"I _love_ Michael. I love him with everything I have. And I know he loves me back, for he shows me, every single day. And whether you like it or not, he _is_ a good man and unless some unexpected force brings up apart, he is the man I will spend the rest of my life with." The last words were spoken fiercely yet quietly. A shocked silence sat between them.

"Sara, you cannot honestly plan a future…_a family_… with that guy!" Sara sighed. _Here they went again._

But despite his sharp reaction, Sara could also see that her father was seriously shaken by her words. Maybe for the first time in a long time, she actually felt a flicker of pity for him, for he simply _didn't understand_. Would probably never understand what she had with Michael. She turned her head, gracing Frank with a sad smile.

"Actually, I mean every single word. After that wreck of a marriage I witnessed you had with mom, I believed for a long time that I wouldn't – _couldn't_ - commit to anybody else in my life. It's only with Michael that I find myself changing my mind about marriage, starting to believe that there truly may be someone you are _meant_ to be with. And I am really sorry for you cannot see that." The sadness in her eyes grew, yet there was also a huge portion of indignation at him as well as her mixed into this sadness.

He wasn't supposed to make her feel this way. She shouldn't feel responsibility for her choices towards him, not anymore. And foremost, she shouldn't feel saddened by his lack of appreciation for the man she loved.

She had surprised herself with the words that left her mouth just mere moments before, for she never meant to speak them aloud. She was never one to give away her most deep thoughts this freely. And yet, something told her that this was something she needed to say to her father, something to get from her chest. Why, she didn't know, maybe simply to make him understand. Of course, she also knew her father wasn't one to listen to such 'rubbish'.

The light in the dark was growing bigger and a smiling face started to appear out of the darkness, illuminated only by the soft light of the lamp. Behind him, Bruce was talking loudly telling Michael some funny story, and his rich laughter was resonating loudly through the garden at what the older man just said.

Sara's features softened, an overwhelming tenderness invading her eyes, a gentle affectionate smile touching her lips. And although she didn't notice this about herself, Frank Tancredi did.

He also thought about how very much his daughter looked like her mother with every passing day. He thought that whatever she may think about his marriage, he loved her mother. And Sara was a child of that love.

"I want you back in my life, Sara. Please." Uttered Frank quietly all of a sudden and the despair in his voice caught Sara of guard and made her turn towards him in surprise. She watched him for a moment, pondering about his words. With a heavy heart, Sara watched Michael coming closer, his eyes observing the two people at the balcony carefully. And what she saw in them made her breath hitch painfully in her throat. His eyes were shining _hope_.

With a feeling of uneasiness, a plan started to form in Sara's head.

"I make you a deal, dad. I will give you another chance," she said carefully, observing the sudden glow in Frank's eyes, "if you give _Michael_ a chance." She watched the light disappear. "That's the deal. Take it or leave it." Sara said sternly. "And I want you to give him a proper, _fair_ chance to prove to you what a wonderful, unique and most talented man he is. You will give him the chance to explain the reasons he had for making the choices he did in his life."

Sara waited a moment in silence, curious if her father dared to oppose her at any point, yet nothing came and he merely nodded. She let out a deep sigh.

"In return, I will give you a chance to make up for the past. We'll wipe the slate clean, but it will have to go both ways." She flicked her gaze towards the garden. Michael and Bruce were near enough and Sara's eyes connected with Michaels. She smiled softly back at him, and her heart painfully fluttered in her chest when she saw him beam in response. There was even something resembling pride in his look. Sara's chest swelled.

"Deal, or no deal?" Asked Sara, wanting an outright answer sooner then the two men reached the balcony. Even while talking, her look was trained upon Michael.

"Deal." said Frank.

"Ok." She unglued her frame from the railing, starting to walk away towards Michael. "Oh, and dad?" She turned back to him. "Please, don't screw this up." She uttered and made her way again towards Michael, towards the light. She had the uneasy feeling she just made a deal with the devil. Yet when her eyes caught the joyous expression on Michael's face, she instantly knew it would be worth the try. _He_ would be worth the try.

TBC

_I would love to hear your thoughts._


	5. Of humming muses

**Title**: Sins of our Fathers  
**Characters**: Michael Scofield, Sara Tancredi, Lincoln Burrows, LJ Burrows, Frank Tancredi, Bruce Bennet, OC  
**Pairing**: Michael/Sara  
**Word Count**: approx. 2400

**Rating**: R for some language  
**Chapter**: 5  
**Genre**: Romance, Family, General, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, light AU

**Summary:** Frank Tancredi didn't die at the hands of the company and it's been a year since Fin Del Camino and Sara's trial that went somehow differently than in the canon. However, she, Michael, Lincoln and LJ have quite a content and happy life. But your old life always catches up with you, no matter how hard you try to move on.

Thank you so much Gabo aka Jaded_Chord for doing once again a marvelous beta, you made my stories into something I actually want them to be. :) *Hugs you tight!*

_Want to thank all of you who reviewed on the previous chapters, it keeps me going. :) _

**SOOF CHAPTER 5 – Of humming muses**

It was dark and cool in the room, and Sara pulled the covers tighter over her shoulders before settling down to sleep again. Something felt odd though. The covers went too smoothly - there was no resistance created by a second body wrapped underneath them, as she was so accustomed to. Still heavy-headed with sleep, she lifted her head slightly to glance at the other side of the bed. It was empty, and from the looks of it, Michael never actually made it to bed at all. Sara glanced at the bedside table, where the alarm clock silently ticked past 4 am. Sara almost groaned, burying her face into the warm pillow.

After saying their goodbyes to Bruce and his family last night, it had been almost midnight by the time they arrived home. Knowing she had an early shift for which she had to get up in less than half an hour anyway, Sara kicked the covers away before disentangling from the bed completely. She was only too curious as to where Michael was and why he didn't make it to bed last night at all, despite promising that he would follow her shortly after. When she thought about it now, his absence in their bed was a rather worrying matter. She considered whether to make a short detour to the bathroom first, since she surely must have made one hell of a sight, but her curiosity about her lover's whereabouts was indeed, stronger.

Their apartment being so small, it didn't take too much time for Sara to figure out where the light came from. Crossing the living room silently, she stopped at the door to the kitchen, leaning against the frame. She gave a soundless sigh, the sight meeting her eyes all too familiar.

Michael was sitting at the table, his tall figure hunched over the narrow wooden table. Blueprints, papers, maps and pictures were scattered all over the surface, the mess forming a perfect mosaic only Michael Scofield could understand. Despite her annoyance with his working habits, Sara couldn't help the soft loving smile that touched her lips. She'd always been fascinated by the level of concentration and devotion Michael would dedicate to every task at hand, whether work or…well, _her_. With his reading glasses almost slipping from the tip of his nose and mind working feverishly, he didn't even notice her there. Not that she would mind these few extra moments where she could privately appreciate the sight of him. He made such a gorgeous sight that Sara felt a sudden flush of heat creeping up her spine. Having always been attracted to smart men, Sara was now very much aware of having one that was not only _incredibly_ smart - not to mentiongorgeous-looking as well - but surprisingly enough, in Michael she found something far more precious, something she didn't believe existed in other than fairy-tales or sappy soap-operas; a soulmate who loved her unconditionally and at such a level that it still used to overwhelm her on times. And she didn't give a damn whether it sounded cheesy or girly even to her very own ears, for it was a fact she acknowledged a long time ago. Michael Scofield - whose brow was currently furrowed in deep thought – was simply a sight _no_ woman in the world could resist. And yet, he was interested in no other but _her_, despite her own cluelessness as to why.

Something pulled at her heart, a bittersweet, aching sorrow nestling in her chest. She loved him, loved him so much she couldn't imagine a world without him and yet, a shadow of remembrance at how many times they could have missed this opportunity, always clouded her present, rather spotless mind.

Still not noticing her presence, Michael's shoulders suddenly slumped, a deep sigh escaping his lips. Pulling the glasses from his tired eyes, he supported his chin with one hand, while the other went up to massage the back of his neck.

"Rough night?" asked Sara quietly disturbing the silence, making him jumped at the sound of her voice. Giving her a confused and disoriented look, Sara slowly made her way towards the table, and stopping right next to him, she brought her hand up to caress his scalp, fingernails slightly grazing over the curve of his head. She could feel him relax almost instantly under her touch, and with a feeling strongly resembling pride, she gave a small, victorious smile.

Michael gave a tired hum before closing his eyes and leaning against her, right over her belly. Her smile wavered slightly. "Have you been up all night, working?" she asked calmly, no trace of accusation or annoyance in her voice, only a bit of badly concealed worry.

Still, it was merely a question, and Michael couldn't be more grateful for her understanding. He hesitated for the slightest of moments before uttering a quiet "yes".

She didn't move nor say anything, yet the intensity of her loving strokes increased significantly. Another sound of pleasure escaping his lips, Michael brought his arms up to encircle her waist, pulling her closer. Both enjoying the quiet moment, Sara bent over and planted a soft kiss on top of his head, sealing the moment of quietness, yet continuing the gentle stroking of his scalp.

"Is everything alright?" she asked softly.

A tight squeeze of her frame gave his affirmation. "Everything's perfect as it is," uttered Michael quietly with a mischievous tone, and Sara could feel a bright smile forming against the naked skin of her stomach.

"I bet it is," she shot back playfully, a hand coming to rest on his cheek. She guided his head upwards, locking him with her eyes. "That's not what I'm asking, though," she pressed softly, searching his eyes with worry.

The blue of his eyes changed, darkening slightly. "Everything's fine," he confirmed with an honesty that didn't leave any room for doubt. Then, he lowered his head again, burying his head into the soft skin of her stomach, nuzzling it in a way he knew would make her squirm and squeal with laughter. It indeed, did.

"Michael Scofield, are you trying to charm your way out of this conversation?" she asked reprovingly, yet her belly was shaking with repressed laughter.

Michael's head still tight against her stomach, he shook his head. "Just tons of work, not worth what could be a lovely morning conversation with the woman I love," he said, raising his head to meet her eyes affectionately gazing down on him, while a confident smile formed on his lips.

"Charmer…," grumbled Sara, rolling her eyes at him and clasping a hand playfully all over Michael's face in an attempt to wipe away his smug grin.

"Speaking of being alright," Michael started seriously, all the playfulness from his voice gone for the moment, "we never had the chance to talk about the meeting with your father this evening," he said, his eyes all of a sudden showing no signs of tiredness, but utmost focus.

"_Last_ evening," corrected Sara with a little smile, trying to gain some time to collect her thoughts on how much detail she wanted to let him know. Playing with his ears absent-mindedly, her eyes never left his. "We had kind of an… _enlightening_ talk…," she confessed slowly, both her voice and expression guarded.

"How did it go?" It was Michael's turn to touch upon an unpleasant subject.

Her hands still playing with his ears, she admitted, "it was probably the most open conversation we had in quite some time." She noticed the subtle yet intense glint of hope in his eyes. She knew what he was craving to hear, and she gave him credit for not acting out of curiosity, but giving her the necessary time and space to elaborate. "We created sort of a... truce, for now." She paused again, measuring her words carefully. "And we agreed to 'wipe the slate clean' and start over, try to give each other a chance to get to know one another again, explain some things from the past and possibly make amends." She knew he sensed her detachment and slight reluctance while telling him this, since he wasn't one to be fooled.

"You don't sound particularly happy about it," Michael dared to voice his concern, an unasked question hanging behind the statement.

Sara stopped fiddling with his ears and gave a little nod followed by a sigh. "I just don't want to get my hopes up too high, you know." He knew.

"My father and I have tried to go this way a couple of times already, and it never worked out. I just-" she said, her voice quivering slightly, "don't want to celebrate something that might be just as disappointing in the end." Her eyes narrowed slightly in an effort to explain herself. "I've been hurt by my father time and time again over the years, we've both been. I just want to take it slow and be careful this time, you know?" Again, he knew.

"I am extremely proud of you, you know that?" he uttered, his eyes glistering in the dim light of the single kitchen lamp. She smiled down at him.

"As I was of _you_ last night," her hands resumed their stroking on the top of his head. "You did wonderfully against my father. Actually, I'm pretty sure even _I_ couldn't bite my tongue at some of his snarky remarks, and trust me, I've heard a lot of them in the past."

Although the very memory of her father's behavior towards Michael last night made Sara's blood spike with anger, Michael merely smiled. "Anything to make you feel comfortable with me in company of people who matter to you," said Michael, and they both knew very well he was referring to all those times when he was considered a rather bizarre accessory to her, and nothing but a dirty spot on his family reputation to the governor. He would give anything to change that.

This time, it was Sara who flashed him a full smile. "You know I always do. In fact, Scofield," she poked a finger into his chest playfully, "unless you try anything inappropriate from under the table, I have to say you can make me pretty comfortable in _any_ company."

"Even Lincoln's?" Michael's eyebrows rose in mock surprise.

"Even in your churlish brother's, yes," Sara confirmed with a confident smirk. Her eyes glancing at the kitchen clock, she groaned. 4:27 am. It was time to get ready for work.

Sensing her discomfort and catching up with her train of thought fairly quickly, Michael felt a sudden pang of disappointment, his tiredness returning full force. Again, as if sharing the same mind, Sara too, felt the mood shift.

"You really should get some sleep Michael, even if it's for a couple of hours," she said, renewed worry lacing her voice.

"I know, but I've gotta finish this before I go to work." He sighed heavily nodding towards the table full of papers. He could see her nod apprehensively, but she didn't say anything further.

"At least try to be home early. My shift finishes at 3 p.m., so I'll come home and cook us some dinner and then we can cuddle on the couch and you can fall asleep during another movie," she finished with a smirk, quickly hushing Michael's attempt to protest. "Don't worry Michael, it'll actually be quite welcome today." She stepped behind his chair, giving Michael a hug from behind. "You've been getting little sleep lately, and don't argue with me," she said as he tried to protest once again. "I'm not blind Michael, I've noticed the hours you've been working, and to be honest, I'm not thrilled about it at all," she finished reproachfully, yet the worry in her voice was evident. "So you will listen to your good doctor for once, and come home early, okay?" she finished with a playful, half-hearted admonition.

Michael turned his head, looking at her over his shoulder. "Aye aye, doctor. I would hate to make the former prison doctor angry. I know first hand how hard she can kick, breaking legs in the process." A soft smile, touched with a trace of nostalgia graced his lips while Sara's own grin grew.

"Damn right, Scofield." She gave his lips a short, loud peck, then finally untangled her hands from around his body, walking over to the bathroom to get ready for work.

Smile still dancing over his lips, Michael's eyes returned to the mess of papers and blueprints on the table. Sighing deeply, he straightened in his chair again. Looking at the blueprints anew, the problem at hand suddenly started to untangle itself right in front of Michael's eyes - what appeared impossible an hour ago was all of a sudden making perfect sense. He sent one last look towards the half-closed bathroom door, straining his ears to hear the soft humming of Sara's voice singing a melody Michael didn't recognize, but liked instantly.

Returning to the papers, he was sure now he would be able to finish the job before it was time to leave for work. In fact, he was pretty sure he would have some spare time left, a time he would most probably spend daydreaming of how to best reward his humming muse.

TBC

_Okay dear readers, I would, as always, love to hear what you've got to say. Any ideas as to where you think I might take this story? Cause I know already, yet there is still some room for maneuvering and I simply love to throw in new ideas. :) You have a unique chance to possibly influence the plot a tiny bit, so don't waste it on shyness or indifference, you may later regret it! ;) _


	6. You would wish a year ago

**Title:** Sins of our Fathers  
**Characters**: Michael Scofield, Sara Tancredi, Lincoln Burrows, LJ Burrows, Frank Tancredi, Bruce Bennet, OC  
**Pairing**: Michael/Sara  
**Word Count**: approx. 2600  
**Rating**: R for some language  
**Chapter**: 6  
**Genre**: Romance, Family, General, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, light AU

**Summary:** Frank Tancredi didn't die at the hands of the company and it's been a year since Fin Del Camino and Sara's trial that went somehow differently than in the canon. However, she, Michael, Lincoln and LJ have quite a content and happy life. But your old life always catches up with you, no matter how hard you try to move on.

_Again, a chapter that went totally different as I've got planned…lol, why do I even PLAN on anything in my stories? They always seem to have a life of their own and they go stubbornly their own way…kinda like rl kidz, lol.__ Thank you all wonderful people who took the time to leave a review, it's what's keeping me going, knowing there are still people reading. :) _

_So this chapter is dedicated to all you wonderful readers who still stick with me and this story, despite the horrible unstable and long update periods. _

_*hugs you all* _

_Also, I discovered this chapter to contain some similar references like in the past few episodes of Prison Break, which is kinda funny, since I wrote this already a couple of weeks ago and are returning to it now. :)_

Huge thanks to shibbyfangirl for doing the beta. THANKS HUNNY!

**Chapter 6 – You would wish a year ago...**

"_"Poverty is not the lack of money, but the lack of happiness."  
_~o~o~ Bhutan Saying ~o~o~

Lincoln was fixing the last roofing peace for the day, his eyes squinting against the bright rays of the early afternoon sun. With one hand holding himself steadily against the ladder, he put the hammer he was holding aside in order to wipe away the sweat that had formed on his face while working. It was hot and Lincoln was thirsty, and just as he was about to call down for LJ to bring him a bottle of water, out of the corner of his eye he saw a shadow of a person move underneath the ladder. He gazed downwards, squinting at the person in dark suit and briefcase in hand, then smiled broadly when recognizing the person as his little brother.

"Hey Mike," he called down, already descending down the steps of the ladder carefully. It was still early afternoon, the visiting time a bit odd due to Michael's working hours, but before Lincoln even got the chance to ponder this fact, Michael managed to beat him to it.

"I got fired," he said unceremoniously, his expression miserable and restless. Lincoln had to bring to practice all his ability to concentrate in order not to miss a step and fall off the ladder at his brother's statement. Jumping down the remaining steps, Lincoln landed heavily on the ground in front of Michael, giving him a puzzled look.

"Fuck! What happened?" His brow furrowing with worry, Lincoln tried to catch Michael's evasive eyes. Only now did he notice the tiny details about his brother that gave him away; the somewhat disheveled appearance, loose tie, tired eyes, crestfallen posture. He looked like crap. Without thinking about it, Lincoln put an arm around his brother's shoulders, giving him a supportive pat on the back with his other in what he considered was a male form of a hug. Then, without another word, he pushed his brother towards the porch and through the front door. He headed straight for the kitchen to grab a six-pack of beers, all the while completely ignoring Michael's protesting voice that was trying to explain to Lincoln he had promised Sara he would be home early and definitely didn't want to smell of booze.

Two beers later, Michael's tongue started to loosen up and he confessed to Lincoln the whole truth. He told him about the dinner at Bruce's, how he didn't want Sara to go alone despite receiving orders from his bosses to stay at work and finish the project.

"So," started Lincoln thoughtfully, "you didn't get the project done on time? So what? Nobody gets fired over something like that!" Michael gave his brother a skeptical look. "Well, ok, people _do_ get fired over stuff like that, but not when they are working their brilliant asses off and doing shitty hours for even a crappier salary. And it's not like those idiots of your bosses could afford to employ anybody else in your field of expertise at the moment, right?" asked Lincoln, his eyebrows rising as he took another gulp of his beer. Michael only nodded unenthusiastically, rolling the bottle between his fingers restlessly.

"You know what the most stupid part is?" he asked with a little snort, not waiting for Lincoln to even try to answer, "I actually managed to finish that damned project and handed it over on time. Haven't slept at all, been working the whole night on that stupid thing." With that, he took another gulp of his beer, his eyes starting to glass over. He wasn't used to drinking, not anymore, and the second beer was quickly starting to rise to his head. Lincoln gave a small outraged cry, but his fourth beer was already starting to kick in too and his howl ended in a chuckle.

"Just forget them, Mike. You were too good for them anyway." Lincoln waved his hand at Michael, but noticed that his brother grew more serious again.

"Good or not good, they were the only ones who were willing to give me a job. After today, who would employ a tattooed ex-con who got fired after being given a second chance?" Michael's tone was even as he gave the bottle in his hands a contemplative look, but the room felt silent at his words. Lincoln sensed the seriousness of the situation, recognizing it was time for the real pep-talk; this matter was obviously pressing heavily on his brother.

„Well, don't worry. You'll find something soon, I'm sure," uttered Lincoln reassuringly, "and until then, you two will have to pull through on Sara's salary. It's not like you two have been living a luxurious life since things settled down, you know how to live from a low budget quite skillfully. And the bottom line is you'll get some time off, at least," shrugged Lincoln, trying to make Michael see the best of the situation.

At Linc's words however, Michael felt his blood spike with unexpected anger. "Yes, Lincoln, being supported by Sara while I'm lazing on her couch and letting her work her ass off to pay the bills is the best possible thing that can happen to me," he snapped angrily, his eyes blazing with fire of fury. Lincoln literally backed up from his spot at his brother's unexpected outburst.

"Hey, calm down buddy, I didn't mean it like that, it's just that…"

"How exactly _did_ you mean it then, Linc? Because as far as I can tell, Sara's been through hell and back with me through the past year, accepting compromises and making sacrifices without a single complaint thrown my way. So making her the sole supporter, leaving every worry to rest on her shoulders once again while I sit on my ass, doesn't seem like such a good idea." It was only too painfully obvious to Lincoln what really bothered his brother. As always, it was the feeling of helplessness deeply-rooted in his system, the fear of being a burden to his loved ones when all he tried constantly was to be the rock others could lean on.

"Sara won't mind, Michael," uttered Lincoln quietly, soothingly. He sobered at once as if he hadn't had a single sip of alcohol. "She hated that job of yours anyway, often complaining about the hours you've been working and how unsatisfactory the work was for you. She will only be glad," finished Lincoln earnestly, suddenly feeling incredibly sorry for his brother, who had despair and self-spite written all over his face.

"Right," squeezed Michael through gritted teeth, "I'm a real _catch_." Sarcasm dripping from his words, he put the empty bottle on the table. He'd had enough alcohol for today, no need to add to the situation by getting smashed on the day he'd gotten fired. Just the image of returning home to Sara, jobless _and_ drunk, made his stomach flip and turn, bile rising to his throat.

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Michael," pleaded Lincoln, an uncharacteristically calming tone in his voice. The younger brother didn't reply but merely bent forward, his elbows coming to rest on his knees, his hands supporting the weight of his head, hiding his face from the world.

_Failure, failure, failure, that's all he could deliver to the person he claims to love most in this world. _Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Lincoln getting up from his place in the armchair, changing seats to lower himself right next to him onto the couch, putting a reassuring hand around his shoulders, squeezing lightly.

It was time for some tough love as well as an honest talk, and without any preamble, Linc started to put the cards on the table, "Over the past few months, I had the chance to get to know Sara a lot better than I got to know her for those three years in Fox River. Back then, she was just a doc and a spoiled offspring of a politician to me, but that view changed rapidly in the course of the last year. And I am not talking just about what she did for you or me or my son. Getting to know her as a person opened my eyes and made me view her as something far more than just a doc, or a rich kid of a Governor who never tasted the pressure of poverty or penury. And though I have to admit to have been totally blind about how special she was then, I can recognize and appreciate it _now_." He could feel Michael's head turn towards him, listening intently, waiting for the point of Lincoln's speech.

"By now, she is like a _sister_ to me, and something between a mother and best friend to my son. But most importantly, I've realized what she is for _you_, Michael. She is _it_ for you, I can see it now, it's either her or no one. But you have to understand that this feeling goes both ways, bro. Trust me, she's never shown any concerns that would indicate otherwise," Lincoln made a short pause, feeling slightly uncomfortable by disclosing such private part of himself - even to his brother – but he knew it was important for Michael to hear it.

"And I don't want to brag," he said with a hint of a smile, "but I think that over the past couple of months, me and Sara have grown pretty close. I'm not sure if you know, but we call each other fairly often to talk about random stuff, discussing LJ, work, …_you_," he offered, and from the puzzled look Michael was currently giving him, he could tell Michael never considered the bond between his brother and Sara being this strong.

"Yeah, damn right," chuckled Lincoln good-naturedly over his brothers clueless expression, "and trust me, Michael, every time I talk to Sara and you come up, she totally changes – _brightens_ – and starts to ramble about daily stuff like what movie you've fallen asleep over recently, what she cooked for dinner, but she also often mentions how hard you work to prove yourself to her although you've done that on far graver and many occasions before. Or how do you surprise and spoil her with origami flowers and cranes," Lincoln let out a small chuckle as he remembered a really funny story Sara told him only recently, "and how she cooked dinner and managed to completely burn the steaks the other night, yet you still tried to pretend they tasted good … or that the last time she was sick, you brought her chamomile tea - one that she always absolutely hated since she was little - but you somehow managed to convince her to drink it and it actually tasted good, though she would never admit that to you…" Lincoln grinned anew at the memory of Sara's embarrassing statement, then looked into Michael's now wide eyes, "…but God help me if you tell her I told you about that one, Michael; I promised her it would stay a secret," he warned, watching with appreciation as a little smile started to fight its way to the surface of Michael's tightly pursed lips.

"And between the lines of these seemingly silly and unimportant conversations, she never mentioned money _once_, ever. Instead, she only keeps repeating - I guess she probably doesn't notice herself – how very happy she is at the moment and how she never believed life could be so rich and _easy_. And it was not money related, but it was for the way you are treating her." Lincoln finished, an awkward silence stretching through the room at his uncharacteristic speech. "I guess she didn't have many happy or prosperous relationships in the past," added Lincoln quietly, his voice acquiring a strange, slightly saddened tone. He got up to his feet and Michael observed him cross the room and take a framed photograph from a nearby shelf. He returned and sat back next to Michael, handing him the picture.

It was a photo that was taken only a few weeks after he moved in with Sara. They were visiting Lincoln and LJ in their new house and were having a BBQ in their backyard. Michael remembered the makeshift bed he had made for Sara in the garden so she could rest since her injury was still not completely healed. LJ had a new camera and wanted to take a picture in order to try it out, so he simply shot the three adults just as they were at the moment, no preparation time included. In the end, the photo turned out pretty well and each brother took one copy that incidentally ended up framed and decorating both of their living rooms.

In the photo, Lincoln was waving his hands wildly, telling a funny story to the couple sitting opposite of him. From behind her, Michael's arms were securely wrapped around a laughing Sara. He was smiling happily himself, despite one of his hands protectively resting over the healing scar on Sara's abdomen. Just looking at this photo brought a bittersweet feeling to Michael's heart, the memory of that time a mixture of all kinds of antagonistic feelings.

"Exactly," uttered Lincoln quietly, as if reading Michaels mind. "One year ago, you were frantic and scared for her life and well being. Now look where you two are now, discussing issues like what you are going to eat for dinner or what movie to watch or when go to bed – early or late. Michael, I want you to look at this photo and tell me what your mind was thinking back then."

It took Michael a moment to reply, his eyes restlessly observing every detail of that photo. He could remember it as if it were yesterday. It was warm and sunny and they had a wonderful time together that afternoon and yet his mind was constantly worried about whether she was comfortable enough, if she wasn't cold, if the stitches of her recently stabbed stomach didn't pull or burn, if her wound wouldn't open at a sudden movement, if his nephew wouldn't break into tears at the topic of his late mother, if Lincoln wouldn't crawl inside his shell at the memory of Veronica, if Sara wouldn't shiver at the memories of the torture she suffered through Paul Kellerman, or if he wouldn't wake only to find himself alone in Panama on board of the _Christina Rose_, knowing he could do absolutely nothing to help Sara survive another day in a maximum security prison.

In the end, he found no words with which he could describe to Lincoln what he was feeling back then, but he suspected Lincoln knew already, his point clearly made. His brother was merely giving a rhetorical question so Michael would realize the huge difference the one year made in their lives. And he was right, for all of a sudden, losing a job didn't appear like such a huge reverse and burden anymore. If nothing else, he was healthy, smart, and had two strong hands he could work with. It didn't really matter where or how, as long as his family was secure and happy and by his side, they would pull through.

He turned to Lincoln, giving his brother a grateful look, heavily adding. "Thank you Lincoln. Honestly, _thanks_. This means a lot to me."

Lincoln gave his brother an appreciative look before his face broke into a huge grin, glad he could finally talk some sense into his brother. Taking the photo from his hands, he carefully put it back to his place before turning to Michael once again, finally replying. "Anytime, Michael. Anytime," he said on his way back to the couch, giving Michael's back a brotherly slap.

"Now," started Michael, his tone rising with sudden hint of mischief, "I want to know what _else_ Sara forbade you to tell me."

At that, Lincoln laughed heartily.

TBC

_A/N – Still with me on this story? Let me know. ;)_


	7. The Message

**Title:** Sins of our Fathers  
**Characters**: Michael Scofield, Sara Tancredi, Lincoln Burrows, LJ Burrows, Frank Tancredi, Bruce Bennet, OC  
**Pairing**: Michael/Sara  
**Word Count**: approx. 3400  
**Rating**: R for some language and sexual situations  
**Chapter**: 7  
**Genre**: Romance, Family, General, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, partly AU

**Summary:** Frank Tancredi didn't die at the hands of the company and it's been a year since Fin Del Camino and Sara's trial that went somehow differently than in the canon. However, she, Michael, Lincoln and LJ have quite a content and happy life. But your old life always catches up with you, no matter how hard you try to move on.

_Huuuge thanks to _shibbyfangirl_ aka Lizzie (lol, nope, not me) for the great beta work. All remaining mistakes are mine._

**SOOF - Chapter 7 – ****The message**

It was nearly 8pm when Michael turned the key in the lock of their apartment, surprised to find it only very dimly lit; the sole source of light being the almost burned out candles, all strategically placed around the main room. Curious, Michael walked into the kitchen only to find the table set for what seemed like a romantic dinner, although the candle on this table must have burned out a long time ago. Remembering the promise he gave Sara that very morning - that to come home early for a change - Michael just now realized with a sinking heart how late it really was and that Sara had obviously a very good reason to make him promise to be home early. Cursing under his breath, he quietly made his was towards the bedroom, the door slightly ajar but bathed in complete darkness.

He could make out Sara's shape under the covers, her back turned towards him. She had the covers pulled up to her chin and tightly wrapped around her body, serving as a warming cocoon. Or, in worse case, as an impenetrable armor against him, in case he tried to come any closer.

Michael hesitated in the doorway, not sure whether she was truly asleep or only feigning while all the same secretly fuming. He would bet his money on the second one and he felt a sharp stab of guilt spreading through his chest once again. Whatever the reason for the ambience, it must have been important for her, and he let her down.

He and Lincoln had completely forgotten time, talking comfortably about this and that, then LJ came from school and Michael spend some time helping him with his geometry homework. Only too late did Michael realize his promise he gave Sara to be home early. By that time, however, it had already begun to get dark.

Turning in the doorway he walked back to the main room, blowing out the remaining candles and loosening his tie with a heavy sigh, starting to strip off his work clothes. Reaching into his briefcase to extract some things he might need, he was thinking heatedly about the possible occasion that might have been the reason for Sara to set up such a romantic setting. Coming with no possible explanation whatsoever, he absentmindedly extracted his cell phone. An involuntary hiss left his lips when looking at the screen. Four missed calls, all from Sara.

Only the last from just an hour ago went to voicemail. He dialed the number and listened to the message, his hand coming to rest on his forehead, then curling into an angry tight fist when he heard the familiar voice he so loved almost breathless with worry.

_Hey Michael, it's me, again. I don't know why, but you are__n't picking up at your office or your cell. I don't know where you are and since you promised to be home early, I am really starting to get worried. You know how I use to overreact when I can't get in touch with you…_- at this point, she let out a barky laugh that sounded distinctly forced and way too nervous -_ …so please… _– she added more urgently, her voice by now pleading -_ call me back as soon as you get this message, alright? Love you._

If Michael felt guilty about losing his job, coming home late, _and_ ruining her carefully prepared evening, it was nothing compared to how miserable he felt _now_. She waited for him to return home early as promised, dinner all ready and table set, only to end up trying to reach him over and over on his cell he switched on vibrate on purpose earlier that evening at Linc's place.

Letting out a string of silent yet juicy curses, Michael was now absolutely positive Sara wasn't sleeping but being up waiting for him, terrified why he still wasn't home hours after he had promised. She had all right to be angry with him - and Michael already knew she most probably was - if not for the ruined evening, then for his late arrival without as much as notice, for sure. With slumped shoulders and aching heart, he made his way towards the bedroom, bracing himself for whatever she would throw his way, knowing he deserved each and every bit of it.

Crawling into the bed behind her, he hesitantly brought his arm around her body, ever so slowly daring to encircle her waist yet ready to pull away at any given moment he would sense the slightest trace of displeasure or rejection. When she didn't stir or move so much as a muscle, Michael found the courage to pull her closer against him, bringing his mouth to her ear in a gentle whisper.

"There is no way I can apologize enough for being this late, but still, please let me say how very sorry I am, Sara." She still didn't move but Michael felt her tense against him, and it made him feel as if tiny sharp strings were painfully pulling at his heart. He continued however, ready to take the blast whenever it may strike.

"Please forgive me for being such a selfish – ignorant – careless…" while searching his vocabulary for a word that would properly describe him as the biggest jerk walking the face of earth, Michael realized with horror how her body shuddered before she let out a loud sob from deep within her, bringing her hands to cover her face as the tears started to flow.

Michael was shocked, to say the least. He didn't expect such a reaction, although he was prepared for pretty much anything – from shouting to accusations to silent treatment or cold shoulder, but this reaction caught him absolutely of guard, shattering his mind into pieces, unable to process the scene unfolding in front of him. On impulse, he put his arms around Sara pulling her tightly against him while she sniffed and cried, her hands still covering her face and still stubbornly refusing to make him _see_.

"I amsorry Sara, you've no idea how sorry I am. Please, tell me what's wrong, tell me what got you this upset. God, tell me that nothing else…_happened_ and it's just me, the hugest asshole currently available? But whatever the reason, we can make it right again, I will make it right again, I promise. Just please don't cry, anything but don't cry…" he begged her in a breaking voice, his chest too heavy to breathe and the thought of something awful happening to her while he wasn't there, _again_, playing in his mind over and over.

Slowly, she brought her hands down from her eyes, her sobs subsiding into occasional sniffs and moans, her hand groping the nightstand to find some tissues to wipe away the tears and blow her nose. She didn't turn to him just yet and Michael knew better to give her time and space. They lay there in silence for a few moments, her breathing labored and her back facing him, but she didn't leave the bed nor pushed him away and it was far more than Michael hoped for. After what seemed like an eternity, her hand started to move under the covers in the search for his, finding what she was looking for and giving his fingers a light squeeze. Although the gesture set him mind to peace a little, it increased the feeling of being one lucky sneaky bastard tenfold.

Her words started to leave her lips in the gentlest of whispers, and Michael had to strain his ears to make out the words at all, but he didn't dare to interrupt nor as much as move in order not to break the perceptible but fragile balance between them.

"At first," she choked at her words, her throat dry, "I was _so_ angry with you for breaking your promise like that, especially _today_. But then, when more and more time went by and I couldn't get in touch with you, I got restless, and upset, and worried," she sniffed anew and Michael gently pulled her even closer against him while he patiently waited for her to continue, "I started to picture…_things_ in my head, of what could have happened to you, _who_ could have gotten to you, and I couldn't make it stop. I was scared out of my mind, literally paralyzed with fear and horror, unable to pace the apartment any longer, I lay down and _waited_. And waited, and waited, and by the time you arrived home I was certain _something_ must have happened to you, otherwise you would pick up or call me yourself, right?" Michael squeezed his eyes tightly shut, a huge lump blocking his throat, "…and I felt _so_ helpless and lost, I simply didn't know what to do, where to go, who to call and alarm that you were missing…"

She was shaking from head to toes and the dread that gripped Michael's heart when imagining what she must have gone through while he was comfortably chatting and sipping beer at Lincolns place made him almost gag. No matter how much time had passed, some habits died hard – _or didn't die at all_ – and he should have known that, he simply _should have_. Cursing under his breath louder than intended, he gathered her more strongly into his arms, unsuccessfully trying to stop her frame from shaking. He somehow managed to turn her over to face him, then brought her as tightly as possible to him in a fierce hug.

"I am so, _so_ sorry, Sara. I stopped by at Linc's and we got caught up and I completely lost track of time and I had my phone on silent…I am unspeakably _sorry_ for scaring you like that."

His voice shaking almost as much as her body, he brought up his hand to cradle her head, stroking her soft strands as gently and soothingly as he could. Moments passed while she clung to him for dear life, but after a few agonizingly long moments of bittersweet sensation, her vice-like grip on him loosened a bit. Her breathing was getting even again, her heart slowing down; the wild flutter in her chest Michael felt only moments before gone, replaced by a steady-beating rhythm.

More time passed before she shifted out of his embrace, her eyes suddenly on fire, "God Michael," she punched him in the chest, hard, far stronger than he would have expected.

"Don't you dare to do this to me _ever_ again," she hit him anew but he caught her hands into his and pulled them to his chest.

"I won't, just please, stop being mad," he said, his eyes glistering in the dark with honest regret, then he added with a slightest trace of playfulness in his voice, "…and please stop punching me. I know I very well deserve it, but you are pretty strong and it hurts rather badly."

It truly didn't happen often – _never_, to be precise – that Sara lashed out at Michael like that, and like expected, Sara felt her anger quickly vanishing up in a puff of air. Bringing her hands to rest on his face, she gave him her very first smile, the tiniest and most uneasy and shy he ever saw on her face, but to Michael, it felt like a million watts had suddenly illuminated the room.

"I was so angry with you for breaking your promise that I had prepared all kinds of rebukes, chastisements and curses for you," she said with a heavy sigh, then her look and voice softened, "but with the hours passing, I grew more worried and ended up just praying for you to be alright."

"I swear it will _never_ happen again, Sara," he promised, almost wincing at the unstable and breaking sound of his voice, his hand still stroking her hair and side of her face affectionately. Then his look changed, a sparkle igniting his eyes once again, his fingers stopping right under her earlobe and playfully tugged at it exactly the way he knew she liked.

"You know, you can still have a go at me and tell me off, throw everything you rehearsed before my way," he whispered conspiratorially, giving her a small grin. "Whenever you feel like it, I'm ready," he encouraged Sara with a mischievous glint in his eye and felt a great deal of relief when she gave a small chuckle in return.

_They were going to be ok._

"Not now, you charmer," she said, giving him a wide grin together with a roll of her eyes, feigning annoyance. "I will keep that for another occasion, as _leverage_," she murmured flatly and Michael knew they were on safe grounds again. Still, he couldn't help but feel like a cheat for getting out of this as easily.

Slowly releasing her from his arms, he rolled onto his back, a sudden tiredness mixed with a feeling of uneasiness about not being completely honest with her yet crushing down on him.

"You should know that I went to Lincoln's today because I needed to talk to somebody about …" he took a deep breath, "being_ fired_ today," he confessed, bringing his forearm to rest over his eyes, suddenly afraid to watch Sara's reaction.

"_What?_" she exclaimed in a shocked, outraged voice, "_Why?_"

He shook his head, not sure what answer to give her. Deciding she deserved to hear the truth, he sighed, "Well, I allegedly violated direct orders from my bosses by not staying at work last night to finish the project." He brought his arm down from his face, his head turning to look at Sara, who was obviously puzzled.

"But you _did_ finish that project, didn't you?" she asked, more confusion furrowing her brow. Michael gave another heavy sigh. "I did, but apparently in their true Nazi way, my bosses ordered me not only to finish the project on time, but to do so at the office as well," he stopped for a beat, "which I didn't," he added softly in explanation, eyeing Sara carefully, worried of the connection she would surely only too easily stumble upon. Naturally, she did. Sinking into the pillows on her side of the bed, she let out a deep annoyed moan.

"Tell me it's not because of me," she lamented, letting the rhetorical question leave her lips almost painfully, "If I haven't forced you to come with me to Bruce's party yesterday, you could still have your job, right?" she breathed in a desperate voice, turning her head and locking eyes with his in a pleading, apologetic manner. He turned towards her, fully smiling for the first time that night, his expression softening when he said; "I would have come with you yesterday either way." She gave a small doubtful scoff, yet he didn't let her evade his eyes, his voice now growing strong and confident.

"I knew, the moment I called and told you I probably wouldn't make it to the party, that it was a huge mistake, and that I shouldn't have even considered such a notion in the first place. And if I was faced with the same choice, I would do it all over again," he stated steadily, "minus that stupid call, of course," he said with a light chuckle. Growing serious again, he added in a gentle whisper, "You are far more important to me than _any_ work assignment in this world Sara, no matter how much preoccupied I sometimes appear with my job, it's just a _job_. There are plenty of jobs out there, but there is only one of _you_. And although I do wish to be able to offer you some financial securities and a life standard I believe you deserve, I certainly don't want to spend the best years of my life working my ass off only to look back when I am old to find out all that I've missed. I simply don't want to miss a moment with you."

Her eyes glistered at his statement. "You've already exceeded all my expectation in our relationship Michael, practical as well as emotional," she started with a shaking voice, "And you know what? When I was younger, this is exactly what I have dreamed my father would say to me one day," her voice grew softer with sadness, "but he never did."

Seeing her own pain reflected in his eyes, Sara slowly drew nearer, bringing her lips to touch his softly, the kiss tender and sweet, assuring and promising and thanking and granting at the same time. Returning her gesture gladly, they kissed for quite some time before Sara withdrew from him ever so slightly, if only so much as she needed in order to prevent their lips from touching again.

"_Thank you,_" she breathed against his mouth, her words coming to him in two warm, sweet puffs of air. "You're welcome," he uttered, giving her a silent soft kiss in return.

"Let's make a deal," suggested Sara all of a sudden, her voice growing more steady and strong, "I won't feel bad for causing you to lose your job, when you, on the other hand, won't feel bad for losing the job in the first place. Deal, Mister Scofield?" she asked, delivering the last two words with a mischievous lilt in her voice.

He regarded her steadily, once again amazed how she could read him so well. He slowly nodded, uttering a silent, "_Deal Doctor Tancredi,_" into her ear in affirmation, before adding, "_And I love you, terribly much, you know that, right?"_

"I do, you show me every day. And I love you too," murmured Sara back, never growing tired of hearing him say those three special words to her. A moment later, Michael finally dared to ask the very last question sitting in his mind since he came home earlier that night.

"I am also very sorry for ruining your evening plans. What was the occasion?" He asked gently, but grew even more curious when noticing her features suddenly changing at his question, a rich red color flushing her face and a lusty glint invading her eyes. Drawing nearer, she whispered into the hollow of his ear in her most sexy, husky voice that always sent shivers of pleasure through his body, "It's our anniversary."

He withdrew to look at her, the initial shock and panic rising in his chest subsiding quickly when realizing they've already had their anniversary a couple of weeks ago. He gave her a puzzled look, regarding her with suspicious yet curious eyes, not completely sure what she was getting at. She gave a coy smile, then drew closer, her lips ghosting over his when talking, "it's _another_ kind of anniversary, Michael." Pressing her lips to his, it took his ingenious mind only a second longer to finally catch up with her train of thought.

His eyebrows rising high, his mouth managed to shape just a single silent "_Oh_". He brought his hands to rest on her hips and seizing her tightly, he brought her up right on top of him in one swift smooth motion, her grin growing wider when she straddled his hips. Smiling devilishly down at him while observing his suddenly eager and impatient expression at what was about to come next, Sara was more than glad he finally understood the meaning of her words. Bringing their lips together quickly and fiercely, her whole body shuddered with pleasure and anticipation upon realizing he had met her lips eagerly already half-way. Sara knew then and there, that she would soon get her apology in a far sweeter form than any words ever could be.

"Skipping dinner won't be such a huge problem then," said Michael hopefully when their lips finally parted for air, managing to gently roll their intertwined bodies over. Hovering above her, his arms securely wrapped around her soft and intoxicating flesh, Michael bathed in the sounds of Sara's reply of rich laughter.

"The dinner can most definitely wait," she murmured as she brought his face down to plant a soft kiss upon his lips, "besides, the microwave can heat up burritos pretty well anyway."

It was Michael's turn to let out a bubbly chortle.

TBC

_Would love to hear your thougths._


	8. Dinner Part1

**A/N:** _**1/**__ Dearest_ **spunkyar**,_ you are simple made of AWESOME!_

_**2/**__ Also,_ **oOmaybelleOo**,_ your banner is the most terrific thing, and this chapter is TOTALLY FOR YOU!!!! *squishes you tight*_

_**3/**__ And thank you for all of you who are still with me on this story and who took the time to review. Reviews make my world complete. :)_

**Chapter 8 –**** Dinner (Part 1)**

The knock on the door was firm and loud, startling Sara and almost causing her to drop the hot lasagna bowl. Seeing Lincoln already moving towards to door to answer it, she managed to shoot him an appreciative smile before lowering the steaming tray of food onto the kitchen counter carefully. She turned just in time to see Lincoln snatch the door of their apartment open and a familiar sight greeted her eyes – her father's strong, perfectly suited frame stood in the door, two dark-suited men wearing sunglasses and looking distinctly menacing at his heels.

She had just the time to picture Lincoln's smug grin forming on his lips - despite the fact his back was still facing her - then he moved sideways, gesturing for the Governor of Illinois to enter the small apartment and loudly shutting the door behind him, right into the faces of the two nameless henchmen.

Pulling off the pot holders and putting them on the counter next to the steaming dish, she made her way through the small living area, where was LJ playing with the remote switching through TV channels, to greet her father.

Almost stopping her in her tracks and taken by surprise, Sara watched her father miraculously extract an exquisite bouquet of flowers from behind his back, a rather sheepish look on his face as he held the bunch of lilies to her without another word. With a light flush coloring her own face, a quiet murmur of _'thank you'_ left her lips as she took the gift rather clumsily. For a moment, both, father as well as daughter, didn't know what to do, how to act, then Sara broke the awkward moment by taking the first step, giving her fathers upper arm a light squeeze and putting a small kiss on his cheek.

"Thanks dad, really. They are beautiful."

The gesture seemed more than to surprise Frank. He gave a small smile in return, which was something Sara didn't see all that often on her father's face.

Turning towards Lincoln, she made the official introductions quickly and unceremoniously, trying to get over with it as soon as possible. Delighted to see both man shake hands, albeit a little reluctantly, she then introduced a rather sheepishly looking LJ to her father, who also shook hands with the governor before retreating back to his place on the sofa. Sensing the curious confusion in her father's eyes, Sara hastened to answer his unspoken question.

"Michael will be home shortly, he's running a little bit late. He's having a job interview," she added, her eyes meeting her father for the shortest of moments. They both knew the governor must have already been informed on Michael's current work status.

It's been a month since Michael lost his job, and ever since, he's been desperate to find a new one as quickly as possible, attending interview after interview in almost every structural company in the city, yet to no success. If he wasn't instantly recognized and therefore quickly dismissed already when reading through his resumé, he was sooner or later identified during the personal interview, always resulting in at least a dozen of polite – and some not that polite - rejections.

Knowing how much it was pressing on him, Sara desperately hoped that maybe tonight would be different, that maybe tonight Michael would come home beaming with success, rather than the aura of being beaten down by another rejection, another _failure,_ as he used to call it to Sara's great dislike. And especially today would be the perfect occasion for Michael to come home with satisfying news, right into the skeptic face of Frank Tancredi.

Sara's father had called her at work two days ago and literally invited himself into their home for an _'informal family dinner' _– a phrase which, Sara was sure, didn't exist in Frank Tancredi's vocabulary whatsoever. There was no such thing as an _informal dinner_ in their family – _ever_ - not to mention the very scarce occasion when the Tancredi dinners could have been called a _family_ _gathering_ at all.

In spite of that, or rather just because of, Sara chose to take her father on his words literally as well. She invited him to their apartment right on the spot, on a rather short notice of two days for the busy schedule of the Governor of Illinois. It was also kind of a test to see if the meeting with her was worth for her father as much as to rearrange and reschedule his appointments. To his credit – and to Sara's huge surprise - he agreed right away.

Sara chose on cooking the food herself rather than order take-out, and called in all the family she had to back her up, to include Lincoln and LJ. Besides, the two of them counted as regular dinner visitors to their home, meaning their presence would be nothing out of the ordinary. Left with no choice, Frank agreed to such conditions, despite the slight hint of dislike and doubt in his voice at the news of the pending dinner company.

But Sara learned a long time ago to appreciate even the smallest victories, and she knew that the mere fact her father agreed to come in the first place, plus that he actually showed up - _on time_ – in itself spoke volumes of how much he really wished to meet up with her. And again, with a hint of uneasiness, she couldn't help the joyous feeling when her heart fluttered with hope.

Sara put the flowers into a huge glass vase, then invited her father into the living room to sit shortly while they waited for Michael, offering him a non-alcoholic beverage he politely declined. She could see, even out of the corner of her eye, how her father measured and judged the small apartment, his eyes skimming over second-hand furniture and the rather old TV. Then his gaze followed his daughter into the kitchen, his narrowed gaze searching and assessing the small space as well. For some reason, this made Sara incredibly self-conscious and even a little bit ashamed.

However, hating to be judged, or rather, hating the fact her father _dared_ to judge the way she and Michael have been living, she let the uncomfortable feeling slip her mind. This was _her_ life, _her_ apartment, _her_ _home_. And despite the older state of the apartment along with its furniture and equipment, the place was clean and tidy and cozy, and it was the first place she ever lived in where Sara actually felt truly at home, governmental mansion with its huge ceiling and spacious, luxurious furniture, included.

Deciding to bite her tongue in order not to begin their first real encounter in more than a year's time badly, she rather forced a smile onto her lips, adding the last details to the table setting, her eye catching the small kitchen clock signaling it was getting late. Returning to the living room, she joined the quiet group and brought Lincoln and LJ out of their obvious misery by starting the conversation with a polite, albeit a little fake smile on her lips, her stomach churning with nerves. It's been too long since she was forced to face her father on her own and like this, in private.

"I know the place seems rather small to you dad, but it suffices for the both of us for now."

_Dammit!_ She didn't plan to start the conversation like this, already in heavy defense, but her father still had that effect on her, like she had to justify her each and every move or decision she ever made to him.

"Well, I'm sure you've lived in better places before, but those were the times when I was still helping you out financially." The blow was well aimed. Sara squirmed in her place uncomfortably, her cheeks turning bright pink. She didn't need to be reminded of all those times when she forgot to pay the rent or her bills, too stoned or intoxicated to remember something so 'mundane'. Eighteen months in rehab with no work and therefore no salary left her dependant on her father's financial aid, and it was still something deeply humiliating for Sara to even think back to those times.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Lincoln and LJ glare at her father, and it made her feel a tiny bit better.

"I like this place. It's far more tidier than our place, right dad?" said LJ cheerily, winking at Sara, who threw back a small grateful smile. Gosh, she loved that kid.

"Yeah, the other night, I thought I heard a rat skittering somewhere behind the couch, gotta get more poison to lie around," added Lincoln with a smirk.

Sara let out a throaty laugh, knowing Lincoln was exaggerating big time. Their place was truly a guy's household, yet it was still rather ok, even for her own strict standards. Her smile wavered however, when she spotted the somewhat disgusted look on Frank's face.

"Lincoln is only joking, dad," she explained with a frown, sensing that her father wasn't all that convinced.

The sound of a key rattling in the lock of the front door caught their attention. Sara was the first to stand up, muttering her apologies while crossing the room in order to greet Michael in the relative privacy of the darkened hall.

The first sight of him told her everything she needed to know. Shoulders sacked, his tie loosened, his face was a mixture of disappointment and tiredness. He just managed to utter a quiet '_Hey_' upon spotting her before he was enveloped in a tight embrace, a pair of soft warm lips finding his ear, kissing it lightly.

"Never mind, I still think you are a genius," came a rush of hot whispers in his ear, then she was kissing him on the lips, gently, slowly, carefully. Her arms went from his broad back to his scull, nails grazing his short hair soothingly. Breaking the kiss at last, Michael withdrew an inch, letting his eyes wander to hers. He gave a small smile.

"You really need to stop that Sara. When I get a welcome like this every time I get a rejection at a job interview, I will start to do it on purpose."

She flashed him a soft smile in return before watching his face grow somber again. "The assisting manager put my name to my face ten minutes into the interview. It looked really great until then," he said quietly, feeling the need to explain.

Sara moved her hands from the back of his head to rest upon his cheeks, sighing. Bringing their foreheads together, she closed her eyes, inhaling his scent.

"It's not going to be like this forever. Sooner or later, they will have to stop seeing you as a part of the Fox River eight and start looking at you as the brilliant man you really are. We just have to give it time. They will forget about your past, eventually."

"Will they?" he asked, his voice a little choked, his tone doubtful and more than a little lost.

"Definitely," affirmed Sara, giving his lips a soft quick peck. "Now c'mon, dinner is ready. I cooked lasagna, your favorite." He smiled sweetly, giving a small nod in response. Slowly stepping out of Sara's arms, he made his way to the bathroom to freshen up. He shoot her a curious glance once his gaze fell upon the perfectly tailored expensive coat hanging near the door next to Lincolns leather jacket and LJ's hoodie. Understanding his look instantly, she only gave a small smile, rolling her eyes to let him know how the evening was going so far.

"_Yes, he's come some time ago, yes, he's been a pain in the ass ever since, but yes, he is trying and we haven't killed each other__. Yet."_

She managed to tell him all that in one single look and Michael had to smile despite himself. Non-verbal communication could be so very useful, especially when having a bunch of rather noisy relatives right in the next room.

_God, he loved this woman so damn much._

TBC


	9. Dinner Part2 Betrayal of Trust

**Title:** Sins of our Fathers  
**Characters**: Michael Scofield, Sara Tancredi, Lincoln Burrows, LJ Burrows, Frank Tancredi, Bruce Bennet, OC  
**Pairing**: Michael/Sara  
**Word Count**: approx. 5000 words  
**Rating**: R for some language  
**Chapter**: 9  
**Genre**: Romance, Family, General, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, partly AU

**Summary:** A year since Sara's trial for aiding and abbeting, going differently than in canon. Frank Tancredi didn't die at the hands of the company. Although Sara, Michael, Lincoln and LJ have a content and happy life, there is one thing troubling their existence – the broken relationship between a father with his estranged daughter. Will Michael find a way to save what's left of their relationship?

**A/N**: _Okay, so I know it's been an inexcusable long time since my last update on this story, but honestly, I love it and I hope there are still people left who like and read this story too.:) *hugs you all* Also, thank you dear Ashley, for the wonderful beta!_

**Chapter 9 ****– Betrayal of trust**

Michael entered the living room a couple of minutes later, freshened and less formally dressed, his suit jacket and tie absent from his otherwise impeccable appearance. Being the first to stretch out his hand, he greeted Sara's father warmly.

"It's nice to see you, Governor." Michael said with a genuine yet cautious smile. Frank shook his hand firmly, but stayed a little more reserved in his greeting.

After an awkward moment, they moved into the kitchen to sit around the dinning table, which due to the lack of space led to another uneasy moment for the group. Normally, the kitchen could easily fit two or three people, and when LJ and Lincoln came for visit, they often dined in the living room anyways. But five people were simply too many and although they were completely crammed in the small space, nobody dared to complain. After some shuffling, elbowing and screeching of chairs against the floor, they all finally managed to sit down quite comfortably.

While Sara served the lasagna, Frank was carefully eyeing Michael in silence, making the younger man squirm under his scrutinizing look.

"So, I take it the interview didn't go that well," started Frank bluntly, causing Michael to choke on his very first bite of Sara's delicious lasagna. Putting down the fork carefully, he lifted his head, directing his gaze at Frank, despite addressing the whole table.

"That's correct, sir. Though I dare say the interview went really well up until the point when I was recognized for my past, needless to say that was the exact moment the company suddenly realized the offered position had already been filled," he said politely. Lincoln snorted.

"I bet they drooled over your resume until they made the connection, right? I know people like that only too well. People unable to believe somebody like you was even applying to their miserable company, yet wanting your services still." said Lincoln disgustedly. Frank couldn't hold his curiosity at Lincoln's words, although he loaded his voice with a fair amount of doubt.

"What makes you think so, Mr. Burrows?"

"What makes me _know_ so, Governor," Lincoln had problems squeezing the title through his lips without actually gritting his teeth, "…is that when you apply for a rather low position in a structural company, and your name is assigned as the leading engineer on the two most recent skyscrapers of Chicago, any structural company would be out of their mind _not_ to want to employ you."

Frank Tancredi looked impressed, albeit still rather doubtful. Turning to Michael, he asked; "Which two did you help built, Mr. Scofield?"

"Call me Michael, please," said Michael with a warm smile, watching Frank nod. "And I worked on the blueprints of the new building for the East Memorial Bank and the West-Pacific FYNAC."

Sara felt absolutely smug to see Frank unable to hide how very impressed he was by this fact. "Michael even received several awards for his work," she said proudly, gracing Michael with a radiate smile.

"Did he?" asked Frank, displeased by the warm looks passing between his daughter and her boyfriend. "Now, how come a man like you cannot find a decent job then, Michael?" he asked, his eyebrows rising in mock innocence, while he put a mouthful of lasagna into his mouth.

Take aback Sara almost dropped the glass of water she was bringing to her mouth. Darting a quick glance at Michael, she saw his jaw clench and his eyes firmly trained upon his plate. Her own temper and pulse spiked with anger.

"Bad luck, probably?" Michael offered, rising his eyes to meet those of Sara's father challengingly. He recognized Franks question for what it was immediately, supercilious criticism.

"Not from what I've heard," continued Frank casually, enjoying his meal at last. Now this was exactly the direction he wished the conversation to flow. Used to being the superior one in every meeting or debate, Frank didn't even notice his daughter's cheeks flaming over his feeling of smugness.

"And what exactly have you _heard_, dad?" asked Sara, surprising everybody at the table by the harshness of her tone.

"Well," Frank wiped his mouth with the napkin before continuing, "I was told that your boyfriend's recent job loss was caused by 'insubordination' issues. Was it not, Michael?" Frank eyed Michael challengingly.

"That's the official version, yes," replied Michael evenly, his eyes meeting Franks. He was extraordinary polite and submissive even in his behavior, much to Sara's dislike. Her father had no right to come to their home and talk like that to the man she chose to love and live with, not to the man who saved her life, on more than just one occasion. Before she had the chance to intervene, however, it was LJ who spoke.

"Uncle Mike didn't do anything wrong, he did everything he was ordered! He only refused to play a puppet for those two…" he searched for the right word, "…_Nazis_ who were ordering him around!"

"Charming. Like the father, like the son," uttered Frank dryly under his nose.

"Hey, watch your mouth!" grumbled Lincoln, never minding Michael's glare to stop. "You come in here like you are the only one who cares for your daughter, judging us and our family, they way we live. Now I might not be the best father walking the face of earth, but when _my_ kid's life was at stake, I did everything I could to help him. _You_, on the other hand, left your daughter for the wolves, sending her away to serve years and rot in a maximum security prison, whereas my brother did _everything_ to get her out, to help her, to…"

"That's enough, Lincoln, thank you," cut in Michael's sharp voice, his eyes sending daggers in his brother's direction. Even before the visit, he warned his older brother numerous time that this visit might not be the most pleasant one, asking - _demanding_ - him to be polite, patient and temperate. This was not what they've agreed upon.

"No Michael, I won't shut up! Just look at you, sitting here like a rain-whipped chicken, gulping down each and every insult and judgment this man throws your way, letting you know with each new-drawn breath that you are in no case worthy of his daughter! Why the hell don't you try to as much as defend yourself?!"

"That's enough." Michael cut in quietly, yet his tone was more menacing than anything else Lincoln has ever heard before. He followed Michael gaze to Sara, who was sitting in the corner quietly, sheet-white and with slightly trembling hands restlessly twisting on the table.

"Sorry Sara, I didn't mean to flip out like that," mumbled Lincoln his genuine apology, putting one of his large hands on her shoulder.

"Actually, there are some really interesting things you've just said, Lincoln." She turned to face her father. "Why didn't you come to my trial, dad?" asked Sara sharply, her voice cutting through the air like a piece of broken glass. "Why didn't you visit me at the hospital? Why didn't you care what would happen to me once it was clear I was going to be released from prison?"

The room fell silent, Lincoln's previous words momentarily forgotten by the new unanswered questions. All eyes were now directed at Frank, who was uncomfortably squirming in his seat under the scrutinizing gaze of his daughter.

"You know why, Sara," he said unconvincingly at last.

"No, I _don't_," she replied with contempt and disgust over her father's cowardice which caused her voice to tremble with anger. "See, dad, I wanted this dinner to be as pleasant as possible, and I did everything in my might to accomplish that, all solely on my own goodwill. I wanted to show you how _good_ my life has become, for you to get to know and to see for yourself what kind, amazing and wonderful men Michael, Lincoln and LJ are. But you came here just to criticize, accuse and judge. As you wish, we will play this your way then."

"Sara…" Michael tried to calm her down softly, covering her hand with his own, but she flinched away from his touch, she was far too enraged to accept anybody's comfort.

"You wanted to know, why a man like Michael cannot find decent work. Well here's why. He left his former work against his superior's orders because _I_ asked him to! I hated the idea of going to Bruce's birthday party on my own and meeting _you_ alone, without Michael's support. So he came to the party, just for me, and then, after we returned home he didn't sleep all night in order to finish the work he needed done by morning. And because Michael is such a reliable employee he _did_ finish on time, but still, those two… _Nazis_ - as LJ put it quite skillfully - fired him anyway. He's been frantically looking for a job ever since, but every single time he is denied for being the master-planner of the Fox River Eight, which is funny, thinking about it, because nobody seems to recognize Michael for the main thing he accomplished, namely to actually save an innocent man's life," she stopped for a second, catching her breath. Everybody seemed too startled to interfere with her speech, Frank the most. "…so in fact, Michael did what was supposed to be _your_ job! Because, admit it, instead of reviewing Lincoln's case, you were too absorbed in daydreaming about becoming the vice-president to Caroline Reynolds!"

In response there was only silence from the stunned group. Sara stood up and taking her full plate of barely touched lasagna, she tossed it angrily into the sink. She braced herself on the kitchen sink with her back facing the four men.

"What I don't understand, is _why you are here now_, dad. You've already humiliated me and my way of life numerous times. You've gave up on me, officially as well as privately, you let me go to prison without a blink of an eye and didn't care to visit even when I had my gut sliced open by another inmate. Now you come back, asking me for another chance, only to come to my house, to my _home_, mocking and insulting everything and everyone you come across. I might have come to terms with that years ago, but I won't let you turn Michael or his family into your whipping boys, only so you can feel better about yourself. So, I am asking you once again; what do you want from me, dad?"

There was a deadly silence in the room. Michael's face was impassive, unreadable, yet his body ached to comfort the woman he loved while she stood in pain in front of him. Lincoln looked - to Michael's dislike - rather smug, nearly amused, whereas LJ looked like a pitiful deer caught in headlights.

Nobody moved for a couple of moments, only Sara turned on her spot to finally face her four men, looking straight into her father's eyes for a reaction, a reply, an explanation. She was almost sure her father would get up from his seat and leave any second now, storming out of the apartment, angry and insulted, never to be seen again. To her surprise, she was met with his grey eyes, the warmest and softest she has ever seen them in her life.

"You're right, Sara. And I'm sorry," uttered Frank at last, stumbling over his words.

At first she was certain she heard wrong. Her father never, _ever_, apologized, it was against his very nature to do such a – in his eyes - weak thing. Still disbelieving, Sara thoughts she might as well use the situation for the best, there was not much to loose now anyway.

"I am not the one you should be apologizing to," she said firmly, pushing further. Despite his slight reluctance, Frank turned to the rest of the people present.

"Michael, and…errr…Mr. Burrows too, I'm sorry for my earlier behavior," it was clear he was barely able to squeeze the words through his teeth without the urge to vomit, but the sheer fact he did, left Sara speechless. She slowly returned to the table, sitting down again. Both, Michael as well as Lincoln nodded to Frank in acceptance. Under the table, Michael took Sara's violently trembling hand in his, drawing soothing patterns over her skin. His heart ached when he felt her squeeze back tightly.

Silence once again stretched through the room uncomfortably.

"Can we have dessert now?" asked LJ unexpectedly, luring a gentle smile from Sara.

"Sure LJ. But let's move to the living room then. Coffee anyone?"

The three older men agreed on coffee before Frank excused himself from the table to visit the bathroom while Sara prepared the cake and coffee.

Lincoln crossed the room in two quick strides, enveloping Sara in a bear hug.

"Wow Sara, you did _great_!" he whispered in her ear, grinning at her like mad. She returned the smile, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. She was exhausted and more than a little confused and shaken up. She had stood up against her father several times in her life, but never like this. Moreover, she never actually _won_ an argument. She didn't know what to think, how to behave, or what to _do_ with her unexpected victory.

Deep in thought, she didn't notice she's stopped in the middle of her actions, registering the big knife in her hand only when somebody gently took it from her hand.

"Here, let me," offered Michael, taking the knife and starting to cut the cake into a few exact square pieces. When she didn't reply, he bent his head to stare into her face in concern, trying to catch her eye. After a couple moments, she finally focused on his face, her expression one of utmost panic and horror.

"What the hell am I doing, Michael?" she asked, distress about her actions seeping from her every word.

"You're standing up to your father Sara, at last," he offered gently, abandoning the cake and bringing his arms around her back, pulling her close. His lips brushed against her temple, his heart skipping a beat when he felt her melt against him with her face hiding in his neck.

"This will never work," she whispered, sounding utterly lost, and Michael felt his insides quiver with pain for her.

"Let's wait and see, shall we?" She gave a small, uncertain nod.

~ooOoo~~ooOoo~~ooOoo~~ooOoo~~ooOoo~~ooOoo~~ooOoo~~ooOoo~~ooOoo~

Sara served the cake and coffee in the living room, waiting for Frank, who took quite some time in the bathroom. If she had to guess, Sara would say he was as shaken up and in need of calming down as much as she'd been. When he reappeared however, he looked calm and composed, albeit a little sheepish.

He sat down next to LJ, thanking his daughter as she passed along the cake. After a couple moments of silence, the group began to make small talk which eventually turned to LJ's future and choice of college. Michael and Sara both teased each other lightly about which Chicago University was best. The mood had risen significantly again, growing almost content and pleasant, while Frank simply listened to the light conversation with surprising interest. Upon another of Michael's rants about the benefits of going to Loyola, Sara rolled her eyes at her father, sighing dramatically.

"Michael graduated from Loyola two years ahead of me and is convinced that it's the best University in the entire world," she said, unable to hold her smile upon Michael's scowl.

"Loyola _is_ the best University in the entire world!" he said stubbornly, watching, out of the corner of his eye, how Frank gave an actual smile.

"I couldn't agree more with you there, Michael," the Governor said unexpectedly, causing everybody in the room except Sara to fell into shocked silence.

"Not now, dad, please!" she pleaded dramatically, yet her smile gave her away. Looking at the three confused faces, she hastened to explain. "Dad went to Loyola too and he studied law. Up until today, he thinks I chose Northwestern just to prove a point and make him mad," said Sara with a chuckle, rolling her eyes.

"Yes, because only an insane person would actually prefer Northwestern to Loyola," said Frank, sharing a knowing grin with Michael. Sara's face was one of feigned annoyance, but internally, her heart burst with emotion at the scene unfolding in front of her. Her father was actually relaxing around Michael and Lincoln, making jokes and conspiring with Michael against her. To an outsider it may have seemed like a small and insignificant moment, but to her, it was everything she had been wishing to see for years. She couldn't help when her eyes filled with unexpected moisture all of a sudden, and although she tried to turn her face away quickly, both, Michael as well as her father, noticed.

"I'm seriously thinking about studying law," said LJ enthusiastically, oblivious to the emotions currently flowing through the room. Turning to Frank, he asked the governor a question, still a bit shyly. "So, you think studying law at Loyola would be a better choice than at Northwestern, Governor?"

Frank turned his head, momentarily lost in the conversation, too overwhelmed by his daughter badly concealed sentiment. He never though this could mean so much to her.

"Err," he stuttered, thinking back about the question the boy gave him moments ago, "Yes, I truly think that studying law at Loyola is the best choice. You can see with your own eyes where it got me, right?" he winked at the boy, who looked away awkwardly. "I have to say, excellent choice, young man,' he praised the boy who flushed. Michael's and Sara's looks met over Lincoln's head and the couple exchanged a warm smile. It was nearly unbelievable; this group of people who were currently laughing and talking in their living room. Half an hour ago, it seemed like all would go to hell. It was almost too good to be true. Almost.

"I am wondering Sara, why don't you two have a bathtub in your bathroom? There is enough space and it seems like there used to be one before," said Frank contemplative, trying to further the suddenly still conversation. He finished the last of his cake, then shot a curious look at Sara and Michael.

The couple seemed to freeze. Sara recovered first. "In fact, there used to be a bathtub in the room when we moved in, but I asked Michael to remove it," she said, taking a few deep breaths. She could feel Michael quickly move to stand right behind her, his warm hand coming to rest on her shoulder and she was glad for the gesture of support.

Frank gave a puzzled look. "For heaven's sake, why would you do something like that?"

Sara squirmed in her seat, throwing an uncertain look at Michael over her shoulder. Clearing her throat, she finally answered. "Because of my PTSS, dad."

Her father gave a puzzled look. "What's that?"

"Post-traumatic stress syndrome," answered Michael and Lincoln quietly in unison.

Frank looked puzzled. "Post-traumatic stress syndrome?" he asked, "Since when do you have _that_?" He said in bewilderment, oblivious of how rude and tactless his question sounded. "And what does it have to do with having a bathtub in your bathroom?"

"You didn't as much as read my trial file, did you dad?" asked Sara quietly, sudden disappointment and hurt evident in her eyes. Frank squirmed in his seat, his face flushing crimson.

"Well, I was…._debriefed_ on your file," he admitted at last.

Sara's features crumpled before she managed to quickly close up, the good mood completely gone from the room, replaced by a grim, ominous atmosphere. The only movement in the room was caused by Michael quickly circling the couch to sit right next to Sara, who looked extremely shaken by her father's indifference.

"Right," she mumbled at last, her glassy eyes burning a hole into the coffee table.

A nerve in Michael's jaw twitched. Despite everything he ever heard and thought about Sara's father, he would never think he was as ignorant and disrespectful of her as that. He took a deep breath to steady himself, but his anger was already blurring his vision.

"If you had the courtesy to read your daughter's file, _Governor_," he spat the word through his teeth, "you would know that the man who in the end testified in my brothers and your daughters favor, killed my nephews mother and stepfather right in front of his eyes! Then, he tried to smother my brother after causing a car accident that nearly killed him. And as if that weren't enough, after your daughter left me in Gila, he captured and…" he stumbled over his words, "…and…_tortured_ her for information for hours before she managed to escape." Michael nearly gagged at his words, bile rising into his throat at the mere thought, a memory he only had to fabricate because he was never there in the first place to witness and _help_ Sara.

The room fell deadly silent. Frank looked to be lost for words, genuinely shocked, his eyes two bulging saucers. It was Sara who broke the silence.

"He had me in a motel room, tied and gagged, trying to drown me in a bathtub in order to gain information from me. When he wasn't successful, he used a hot iron electrocuting me under water. Then he simple dropped me into the bathtub, leaving me there to drown for good. If not for my quick thinking and a fair portion of luck, I would be dead by now."

The whole room was completely silent, the only sound to be heard was when Sara shifted closer to Michael, nearly crawling into his waiting arms, her hands clutching to him for the much needed support after the recollection of the worst memories of her life. Frank glanced over at Michael, his mouth slightly agape. The younger man's look confirmed his daughter's words. The immense fury, pain and _guilt_ in his face told Frank all he needed to know. He felt his stomach flip over, the coffee suddenly burning his entrails. It was like the wind has been knocked out of his airways.

"I had no idea…" Frank whispered brokenly, letting out a long painful breath. "There was nothing mentioned in your medical records…" he continued as if in a trance, trying to comprehend where all the mistakes had occurred, as well as trying to vindicate his lack of such crucial knowledge about his own beloved child.

Michael felt Sara stiffen in his embrace. "What did you say?" she asked quietly, turning to look at her father in shock. Frank shot her a confused look.

"You read my _medical_ _records_!?" Sara was beyond shocked. As a doctor, she considered any medical records extremely private, sacred even. The fact that her father had the nerve to take the liberty and read her very own private files left her shaking in rage.

"How _dare_ you? Those records are _private_, I could sue you for that!"

Frank seemed to stagger. "I'm sorry sweetheart, I didn't mean…I didn't know how you were, I only meant to learn if you were alright…" he stammered at his words, his face red with shame at being caught literally stalking his daughter.

"And you didn't think calling your own daughter to ask her in person might have been a better idea?" asked Michael coldly, his eyes narrowed with fury on Sara's account. He could forgive Frank for almost anything in order to mend his relationship with his daughter, but this was too much even for him.

Frank didn't mind Michael's stare, his desperate focus was solely on his daughter now. "Honey please, understand, you weren't talking to me and I was worried," he tried to explain, but his apologies sounded lame even to his own ears.

"And what exactly did you manage to learn about your daughter from a bunch of papers?" asked Lincoln in contempt. Frank was quiet for a while, but felt his temper rising. He was not used to be treated like this, and it started to rub him up.

"I learned enough to know she was okay and healthy," he was still flushed. "I definitely don't remember reading anything about any post-traumatic stress syndrome."

"You didn't find it relevant to read her trial file, but you felt it necessary to read her medical records, that contain extremely private information about her body, mind and health?" asked Michael with quiet fury, his eyes narrowing, looking at the man like he saw him for the very first time. Frank couldn't help but squirm under Michael's ruthless glare.

"Well, _dad_, if you knew me well enough you would have known that there are certain things I don't want to appear in my medical records - _any_ official records for that matter - for obvious reasons," added Sara coldly, sending Frank a pointed look. He wasn't able to hold her accusing gaze.

"Okay, so now, just for you and your insatiable need to control my life, here comes. For several months, I wasn't able to as much as walk alone into a bathroom without experiencing severe panic attacks, cold sweats and breakdowns. Taking a shower had been excruciatingly exhausting and painful. If I hadn't had Michael, who went with me every step of the way, negotiating, begging and gently persuading me, I wouldn't have been able to function at all." Her body gave a light tremble and she crawled into Michael's steady frame even further, enjoying the feel of his arms tightening around her. Sara knew that without him, she would never be able to tell her father what she was now disclosing to his disbelieving, horror-struck face.

Sara took a series of steadying breaths before she was able to continue. "I underwent a series of individual therapies with the best PTSS specialist in town. They aren't any records on my medical file because they were paid for directly, outside of the insurance system."

"How?" asked Frank. His question may have been insulting under different circumstances, but that was the last thing on Sara's mind right now.

"Michael and Lincoln paid for them, dad. Without a single hesitation or regret," said Sara, looking coldly at her father. "Of course, they could have tried to urge me to go through the official channels, requesting my medical insurance company to pay for the treatment, but they immediately recognized how important it was for me to stay off the records on this one. At least now, I can see my worries were justified," she added with a ruthless touch to her voice. The knowledge of her father going through her most private matters still enraged Sara beyond anything else.

"I…I don't know what to say…" mumbled Frank at last, his eyes wide with shame.

"You can start by apologizing and promising never to abuse your position to spy on your daughter and her private matters ever again," said Michael coolly.

"And you can continue by apologizing to my brother for treating him like crap," added Lincoln in a low grumble.

Before Frank could act upon any of those suggestions however, Sara had risen to her feet, mumbling something about a headache and retreating from the room, closing the bedroom door behind her with a distinct click before anybody had the chance to react. Frank got up too and shot a look in the direction his daughter had just disappeared, but Michael was quickly at his heels, stepping into his view, his posture protective and indicating it was time for the governor to leave.

Frank dragged his feet slowly to the door, and while still lost in his thoughts let Michael to see him off. The older man was visibly shaken. Turning in the door, he looked at Michael with glassy eyes. There were only the two of them now, and Frank couldn't hold his misery at bay any longer.

"I swear I didn't know…" he said to Michael feebly, his voice breaking over every syllable. He was acting so unlike the steady, commanding man Michael knew him to be, that the younger man almost took pity on him. "Despite what you may think of me right now Michael, I love my daughter very much."

"You have a strange way of showing it," said Michael coolly, yet his tone was mild. He was the last person on earth who dared to judge people, but it was hard not to judge a person who caused so much pain to the woman he loved most in this world. On the other hand thought, he had done so on many occasions himself and to this day he was still working hard to make amends, trying his best to make everything up to Sara, in all ways humanly possible.

Sighing, he looked at the miserable figure in front of him, finally taking pity on the older man. He too often wished he had the chance to change things, many things, like between him and _his_ father for example. But he was robbed of that chance not long ago and he hated the thought of that happening to Sara as well. He really wished she could repair her relationship with her father, but this was Sara's decision, not Michael's.

"Give her time," offered Michael surprisingly gently. "She's been through a lot and you've hurt her rather badly today. Yet I still believe that the level of anger and betrayal she feels towards you merely proves how much she really cares about you. If you want to mend your relationship, you will have to be patient and try harder, _much_ harder, to be a better father. God knows me and my father came to this truth when it was already too late, but you still have a chance to change things. Don't waste it like I did."

Frank looked at Michael, and for the very first time, there was something resembling respect shining in the older mans eyes.

"Thank you," he said, offering Michael his hand, which he took and shook firmly.

"Please tell my daughter …please…just tell her that I love her, alright?" said Frank, slightly flushed. Michael gave a nod.

"I will. Goodnight Governor."

"It's Frank, please."

"Alright. Goodnight, Frank."

With that, the door closed, leaving the older man standing in the hall. There were not many places in this world Frank Tancredi didn't have access to, but there was one he desperately wanted but couldn't have, his daughter's heart.

TBC

_A/N:_ _Okay, so is there still any reader left who likes this story and wants me to continue? If so, let me know, so I know. :)_


	10. The Banquet

_A/N: __Ashley dear, no words can convey how very grateful I am to you._

**Chapter 10 - The banquet**

She couldn't believe he convinced her in the end, but now she is indeed standing here, right at the entrance to her very own personal hell. She always deeply hated her father's parties, social events that served as a reminder that all the rich and powerful of Chicago could be fit into one single room.

She always hated them to the bone, swearing to herself over and over that she would never set foot into such wolfish company ever again. Her father knows this only too well, and that's probably the reason why he called _Michael_ up on the invitation and not her. She would have said no, of course, without the blink of an eye. Yet upon spotting Michael's apprehensive and yet dedicated expression when he came home and laid the cards before her, his puppy look pleading with her to take her fathers invitations for what it was, an outstretched hand of peace no matter what the actual occasion, she simply couldn't say no to those pleading eyes.

And so she stands here, with a dress paid for with money she could very well imagine investing in a far better way than this, and it's only Michael's tight grip on her hand that stops her from turning around and running back home while she still can.

Lost in her thoughts while they wait in the rather spacious hall to be led to the rest of the large evening company, she hardly notices out of the corner of her eye how Michael's eyes wander intently around him, observing the huge senatorial mansion for the very first time. Then, his eyes stop and he steps a little further down the hall and into a corner not so well lit, his eyes spotting a large but cleverly hidden painting on the wall. It's a portrait Sara knows only too well, and she is not surprised it caught Michael's comprehensive attention as much as she is not surprised that her father positioned the family portrait so that anybody less attentive than Michael would miss it completely, despite it's massive proportions.

She can feel Michael's hand tugging at her's now, silently asking her to follow him, and not wanting to break the contact, she does despite all the contradictory feelings quickly rising in her chest. Only a moment later, they stand directly in front of the painting. Michael's eyes are huge now, his gaze wondering briefly to Sara in quiet question and then back.

"He thought such a monstrous thing belonged to every _well-situated_ household," Sara murmurs uncomfortably, her hand traveling up to sneak itself around Michael's bicep, drawing him closer. "It's also the biggest farce I've ever seen in my life."

She can tell she's caught his attention now, for he finally unglues his fascinated gaze away from the portrait of a sweet smiling twelve-year-old red-head, looking at her thirty year old self instead.

"How so?" he asks quietly.

His eyes are now staring at her intently, the compassion and understanding in them making it unbearable to hold his gaze any longer. So she directs her eyes at the painting instead, letting out a deep sigh.

"Well, for starters, I am smiling really happily in the portrait," she can feel his thumb rub her wrist soothingly, "and then, my mom is holding my shoulder, and not a glass of bourbon," she adds bitterly, feeling the soothing pattern of Michael's touch stilling, "and the fact that my father is even there is so ridiculous that I cannot even start to think…" she stops herself abruptly, the bitterness of her words sounding amiss even to her own ears.

"I'm sorry," she hears Michael utter softly, and his honest regret yet without a trace of pity for her makes her chest feel crushed and heart heavy with guilt. For one, this is no time or place to have a conversation like this, and secondly, she always comes a second too late in her realization that Michael is an abandoned child with a history of heartbreak himself. She draws her eyes away from the painting at last, turning her back on it and giving Michael a reassuring smile instead.

"It's not a big deal," she replies quickly, tring to brush it off but failing miserably.

"Somehow, I have a hard time believing that," Michael murmurs quietly, his hold on her gently tightening.

"No Michael, really, I'm sorry for talking like that." She takes a look around her, shuddering slightly. "It's only this place…and those people," her look wanders to the banqueting hall just down the corridor, "that bring back the unpleasant memories."

"Maybe you were right. Maybe it was a mistake to come here tonight all along …," she hears Michael say regretfully but it's already too late. The echo of a confident stride closes up on them like a dark omen, and before she even turns, Sara immediately knows who the shoes belong to.

"Michael," her father nods towards her partner before continuing, "Sara dear, I'm really glad you two could make it."

The dancing hall is filled to the brim and despite having been to many similar events, the dense atmosphere and the crowded space makes Michael feel slightly claustrophobic. The fake smile plastered all over his face is starting to wear off, his facial muscles aching as much as his hand, humming with pain after so much shaking with people whose names he by his best intentions cannot remember. Truth be said, the majority of the present company, he hopes never to see again, and only now does he really start to understand the extent of Sara's dislike for these events.

He feels Sara press tightly against his side throughout the whole evening and he can only imagine how excruciatingly terrible this must feel for her. Everybody seems to know her, sneering and whispering shamelessly about the naughty prodigal daughter who gave the governor of Illinois more grey hair than president Reynolds's political fiasco. Michael cannot remember a time where his blood boiled more than during the last few agonizing hours.

Stealing a glance at Sara though, he has to admit he is fairly proud of her. She doesn't let anything on, her own smile even brighter and more fake than Michael's own. She chit-chats politely with people Michael knows she cannot stand, all to her father's benefit. "_A__nd a little of __your__ own__"_, he adds in his mind and his heart swells just a little in his chest.

Though initially thinking and hoping this would be a nice opportunity for Sara to re-bond with her dad, Michael has to admit that she's been right where he's been wrong from the start. Frank had barely seen them in when he was already stolen away by a bunch a senators having a blast remembering old times, and ever since, he hasn't seen nor spoken to them on more than two occasions, none of them private or at all too pleasant.

Stealing another glance at his beautiful company, resignedly suffering at his side, Michael wishes he could have her all to himself. She looks more stunning that ever before, and '_that's saying something__'_, Michael thinks, considering he's thought she was beautiful ever since the moment he got a glimpse of her in flesh and bone himself.

As if sensing him observing her, Sara turns her head slightly to the side, throwing him a sexy grin over her shoulder, which may be the very first genuine smile since she ruefully said goodbye to Bruce an hour ago. Her eyes ignite with a sparkle of mischief and momentarily swim with a promise of a far more interesting and very much private party that will surely follow once they get home. Michael cannot help but grin at her himself, his fingers itching to press her even more tightly against his side. His eyes wander again through the crowded hall and he spots a group of younger men drinking bourbon a couple feet away from them. All are looking in their direction, their presumptions sneers and laughing whispers thrown in Sara's direction making Michael's blood boil just a little.

Making a rash decision, he takes Sara's hand in his tightly before heading towards the door to one of the smaller balconies strategically positioned around the hall, hoping to find at least some privacy and get some much needed fresh air in the dimly lit niche.

Letting out a huge sigh of relief when finding the place empty, he only then registers the quiet chuckle he so adores and turns to find Sara already pressed into his front, not wasting a second to be apart in the relative sanctuary of their hideout.

All too soon however, the chuckle dies on her lips, only to be replaced by a tired, exhausted sigh as she nestles her head in the crook of his neck, basking in the warmth his solid frame provides.

They stand like this for a couple of moments, neither of them saying anything, Michael slowly rocking Sara back and forth, a faint echo of the dance people are having in the ballroom reverberating through their own frames.

At last, Michael is the first to break the silence. "I am sorry to have dragged you here tonight," he says honestly, deep regret dripping from his words.

"Don't be," she answers quietly, pressing even further into him, her face coming to nuzzle the side of his neck. "You meant well."

"Well, nobody ever lived from good intentions only," he cannot help to reply heavily as he brings her frame even closer against him, her hair ticking his chin in a very erotic manner.

She smells of soap, clean sweat, perfume and an essence Michael knows only as her, and despite the disastrous evening, the moment seems to be magical, even if for only a couple of seconds.

He enjoys the quiet tranquility of the moment as much as possible, before another, more obtrusive thought clouds his mind. The whole evening something's been on Michael's mind and it was nearly burning a hole into his tongue, but he still wasn't sure whether she would want it brought up in conversation.

There is a soft chuckle against the side of his face before she playfully murmurs against his crisp white shirt, the warmth of her breath bringing all of his senses alive. "Just spill it out Michael."

He is astonished, as so many times before, by her unbelievable ability to read his mind. "How did you-"

"You forgot to breathe," she says playfully, interfering before he has even a chance to finish his question. She withdraws slightly from the embrace in order to look at him in the dark. His eyes are shining darkly, two opals in the night, and she again marvels in the somewhat superficial thought that such a gorgeous, handsome man is all hers.

"You always…" she starts but trails off, trying to find the best way to explain. She gives it a little bit of thought then starts anew, looking directly at him, her hands playing with the sides of his tie. "When something's on your mind, your breathing changes, and then, without actually knowing it, you let out this deep sigh that rumbles throughout your chest," she states, still captivated by his gaze, feeling like a moth attracted by the flames, drawn nearer still. It's Michael who is the one to break away – this is not the time or the place, despite his desire to simply press her against the stony wall and kiss her senseless.

Smiling broadly instead, he shakes his head a couple of times, muttering something under his breath that sounds distinctively like '_smartass_', then he grows more solemn again, his eyes again trained on her.

"I was just thinking that you take after your mother very much," he says, observing her intently for a change in her features. The darkness is his enemy however, so he decides to put his cards on the table. "She was really beautiful Sara, and you look so much alike. Especially the eyes, you have her eyes." He adds softly, observing her closely in the dark. "And I was just wondering how much you had from her, not only on the outside. I wish I had known her. And I wasn't sure whether to tell you because I didn't know if this was something you would like to hear."

Despite the darkness, he can read her pretty well now. There is a gleam of surprise in her big hazel eyes, then a hitch of deeply laced sadness, a pinch of shame and finally a ray of comprehension.

Pressing her face and frame into him again without a word, they stand there for a couple of moments before her mouth wonders to his ear, her whispering breath causing goose bumps to rise all over his body.

"Thanks Michael. I liked hearing that and I wish you knew her. I also wish she knew _you_ too. I think she would have adored you, just like me" she whispers, her arms sneaking around his neck, gently caressing the soft skin right underneath where the last of his hair grow, massaging the spot in a manner she knows drives him crazy.

There is still the gleam of remembrance and loss in her eyes, but a new emotion starts to shine in her eyes - hunger, lust, love.

Unable to resist her look and her tender ministrations at the back of his neck any longer, Michael brings his head lower towards her face and captures her lips. He has only time to register the small devious smile creeping over her features right before their lips meet before he is lost in her completely.

It's a slow and sensual kiss, but they keep their surrounding in mind, so their contact is modest. However, it manages to stir them alive after all those hours spent in unnatural positions and fake expressions plastered over their faces, conversing with people they cannot stand.

"Sara, there you are!" the strong and somewhat irritated voice of Frank Tancredi penetrates their happy bubble, causing Michael to jump away in surprise, daring to take a look over Sara's shoulder to look into her father eyes, which are glaring with the obvious displeasure of catching his daughter in a compromising situation.

Unlike Michael, Sara is still pressed tightly against him, her head hidden in the crook of his neck. She seems to take her time in both, getting a grip on herself as well as answering her father, and Michael has a feeling she doesn't want to move just yet because of the danger of revealing the wide grin he is sure is now plastered all over her face. _Lucky her._

"I've been looking for you two for quite some time now, why aren't you inside? It's cold out here," says Frank, throwing an accusatory glare towards Michael. Sara gives a final, heavy sigh and though untangling from Michael, she isn't stepping out of his embrace as she turns to face her father.

"We've been here for only a couple of minutes dad, to get some fresh air. It's crowded in there, I felt slightly dizzy, so Michael walked me out," she lies shamelessly to her father before plastering another one of her fake smiles onto her face. "Besides, you didn't look like you were missing us much," she adds, her tone taking on some of the chill from the night air. Frank's eyebrows rise slightly as he looks a bit taken aback.

"Well…you know how these occasions go," he starts again, this time less aggressively, "too many people, too little time. I'm happy when I manage to as much as greet everybody in person. I am the host after all and…" he trails off in his explanations however, as if catching himself at a lie, then all of a sudden, he's looking slightly sheepish, coy even.

"Alright, alright. I admit I've been neglecting you a bit this evening, and I am sorry for that," he shoots an uncomfortable look towards Sara, slowly closing the space between them. His voice drops an octave, an unseen vulnerability entering his tone. "But I am really glad you came, child, I really am. And you look very lovely tonight."

Sara gives a small nod, momentarily lost for words. This might be the very first time her father is actually thinking about her feelings too, on top complimenting her on her looks rather than criticizing her choice of clothing. She knows it must have cost him a great deal to say what he did, and even more to bite his tongue on what he didn't. Also, the fact that he was willing to abandon his friends and colleagues in order to come and find her, caring enough to see for himself if she was still as much there, bears a value only a truly neglected child can understand. It's priceless.

Closing the distance between them, Sara does the only spontaneous thing that comes to her mind, enveloping her father into a warm hug.

"It's okay dad, I had Michael with me," she says amicably, surprised when her father's hands sneak around her back too, giving her a tight, long squeeze before finally letting go.

Shockingly moved by his daughter's tenderness, Frank lets out a raspy cough before gesturing back to the full ballroom again, his eyes oddly glistering in the dark. "Shall we go back? I would like a dance with my daughter now. If that's okay with you, Michael," he adds carefully to the couple's surprise.

An hour later, they are still stranded at the impossible reception, their fake smiles and polite gestures having long ago lost their sparkle. After having danced twice with her father, Sara excuses herself to the ladies room, and by the time she returns back, her father is once again enthralled in his boring discussions of the most political kind. She doesn't mind in the slightest however, she would never claim more time with him as she already got tonight. A small tiny voice in her heart dares her to hope that tonight was not just an exception to the rule, and she feels a little more than uneasy at the thought.

Her eyes seeking out Michael at the buffet table, she is just about to cross the room to join him when a huge hand grasps her by the elbow, turning her around a bit too roughly.

"Well hello Sara!" says a man in his thirties, a glass of scotch in one hand, the other finally letting go of her elbow. His smile is not fake, but not too genuine either. It is simply a smile of a person who is completely convinced to be the best of their kind in the radius of 20 miles. He is flashing her a smile with all of his super-white teeth and Sara nearly shudders at the slimy tint in his voice.

"Hello Nate," she responds warily, plastering one of her most neutral and polite smiles over her face, her eyes quickly wondering to the buffet table in search of Michael who isn't to be seen there anymore.

"So how have you been you little troublemaker? Long time no see!" Exclaims Nate in what he certainly believes to be a charming way, his tone condescending.

"Oh, I am sure you still love to read all the crappy gossip the tabloids have to offer these days, so you should be pretty well informed," shoots Sara back bristly, maybe too soon starting the verbal battle she is sure will ensue. Scanning the crowd for any signs of Michael again, she finally spots him talking to Bruce at the far end of the hall and she is grateful.

"For someone who spent a fair amount of time in prison, you still have a pretty foul mouth," says Nate, his smile pompous and repulsing Sara to her core. God, how she hates that smile. She takes a couple of steadying breaths, thinking of her father's proud look when he was dancing with her in front of the whole ballroom earlier, seemingly not caring her to be still considered a person who most of these people never hoped - or wished for that matter - to ever see again. Smiling politely, she looks at Nate evenly again.

"Prison is an interesting place Nathan, you could definitely learn a thing or two in there."

"Oh, is that an offer to be partners in crime? Are you and your bad-boy boyfriend planning on breaking the law again?" he asks, giving Sara a provocative look before unconvincingly winking at her. "But you know, between you and me, I've always had a soft spot for you," he smiles again, this time a predatory expression residing over his features. Sara suppresses the urge to shudder.

"Well, you know what they say about never stepping into the same river twice."

"Touché, but I _would_ give you a second chance. You have to admit, the sex was _indeed_ pretty awesome, wouldn't you agree?" he asks conspiratory before looking pointedly into Michael's direction and back, winking at Sara again, "I wouldn't tell your lousy boyfriend, no worries there." He adds with feigned nonchalance, another smile curving his lips. Once again, Sara's stomach makes a dangerous flip.

Not reacting in any kind to his suggestions nor his provocative remarks about Michael, she continues smoothly without a bat of an eyelash. She's learned a long time ago that this man couldn't upset her in any way, he simply just repulses her. "Speaking of relationships, how's your wife?"

Nathan shrugs, his self-important smile changing into a grimace of annoyance for the shortest of moments before putting on his pompous mask again.

"At the bar probably, getting drunk. Who cares?"

Sara suppressed the urge to grit her teeth, momentarily getting lost in a daydream about being able to publicly slap him. At least twice.

"Her husband surely doesn't, that might be the problem."

"Ah but Sara, are you really in a position to lecture me on good partner choices? Just look at that lowlife…" his voice trails off and he falls silent momentarily, a sickening smile spreading across his face.

Sara is just about to reply something sharp at his second insult of Michael in the past five minutes, when she suddenly understands the reason for his silence. A warm, smooth arm sneaks its way around her waist, a gentle voice quietly ringing in her hear

"Hi."

She turns her head, unable to suppress a smile at the sight of the overwhelming warmth in Michael's eyes. She can't help but compare momentarily the two men in front of her. In comparison to Nate, Michael is a God, in every sense of the word.

"Sorry I took so long, Bruce just wanted to tell me about Debbie's graduation," he continues smiling down at her warmly, until finally his eyes catch the sight of Nate still standing in front of them and his sly smile betraying his eagerness to be introduced to Michael causes Sara to cringe inwardly. Secretly praying for Nathan not to say anything too stupid, she doesn't let a thing on as she does the introductions pleasantly.

"Michael, this is Nathan Lockheart, an old… _acquaintance_ of mine. Nate, this is Michael Scofield, my boyfriend." _"M__y unbelieveabl__y__ hot, sexy, and much better then you boyfriend!"_ she cannot help but add in her head.

"Sorry, didn't see you there," says Michael warmheartedly, stretching out his hand towards the man. The two of them share a strong handshake and a careful nod, obviously seizing each other up. Michael wonders if he's already seen the guy somewhere before realizing he was one of the men he previously saw sneering and laughing in Sara's direction and he can't help his warmheartedness dropping a couple of degrees.

On tops, he noticed the way Sara obviously tensed when she made the introductions with the stranger and he decides he doesn't like it one bit.

Nate is the first to speak. "So Michael, I have to say, you've made quite an impression in these circles. To say the least, you've certainly taken Sara's rap sheet to quite a new level there, I have to give you that." Sara is throwing a warning look of disgust towards Nathan while Michael's eyes narrow carefully at the man's spiky comment, starting to get a fairly accurate idea what kind of Sara's old _acquaintance__s_ he is talking to.

"I wouldn't know anything about that."

"Well, lets just say," Nate's voice drops lower into an almost conspiratory whisper, "that although we've all seen that Sara has a…'thing' for lousy men in the past, you've been by far the greatest influence on her. She's never spent more than a night in prison. Thanks to Frank of course, but nevertheless, even the Governor couldn't get her out of that one now could he, Sara?" Smiling sweetly, he watches with satisfaction how Michael's eyes widen and he literally goggles at him, whereas Sara's lips press into a nearly invisible thin white line. "Of course, that stab wound was rather a setback, wasn't it?" He smiles at both of them broadly, as if this was a game of chess and he just made a particularly good move on the board.

Michael is initially so stunned at the mans boldness in his insults, that he momentarily falls speechless, unable to comprehend how a man, _any_ man, could mock them, mock _Sara_, like this and on such a horrendous level, jeering about her time in prison where getting stabbed and nearly being killed while in there.

Trying hard to find his voice again, Michael's eyes narrow into two tiny slits, the blood roaring in his ears. Observing Nate closely now, he barely registers that Sara's grip has significantly tightened on his arm.

"He's just trying to provoke you Michael, don't listen to him. Nate's always taken a liking in provoking scenes at official gatherings," she warns Michael soothingly.

"He is certainly doing a great job at that," says Michael through gritted teeth. "Okay, you had your five minutes of glory, now walk, _fish_," he throws in a deadly voice at Nate.

The nickname feels so bizarre to leave Michael's mouth in this particular setting that Sara can't help but let out a surprised burst of laughter. Catching Michael's eyes, they both grin at each other knowingly.

"Listen to me you little piece of shit," the angry hissing sound of Nate's voice breaks through the moment, "who the fuck do you think you're talking to?" Ignoring the man, Michael murmurs something to Sara before starting to tug at her hand, pulling her away from Nate, completely disregarding Nate's insulting behavior.

In a desperate attempt to stop them, Nate lunges forward grabbing Sara's arm roughly again, stopping them both in their tracks and causing Sara to let out a small yelp of pained surprise.

"I wasn't finished wi--" before he has a chance to finish his sentence however, he has Michael gripping his arm in turn, the vice-like grip and menacing glare on the younger man's face causing Nate to immediately let go of Sara's arm. Still, Michael's doesn't let go, gripping harder and causing Nate to hiss in pain, looking for a split second alarmed.

"Don't you dare to ever touch her again like that," threatens Michael quietly, but Nate recovers quickly, a sneering smile spreading with the speed of light across his features. A couple of bystanders are already turning towards them, looking with displeasure as well as some sickening interest at the scene.

_Of course_, Sara thinks, _the rich and powerfulof Chicago simply love a scandal when they see one. _

Tugging onto Michael arm again, she tries to calm him down, knowing very well that if there is one touchy subject Michael is ready to lose his temper over, it's got to be her.

"Or you'll do what?" prods Nate further, choosing to ignore the warning signs the younger man is emitting and instead continuing in a now openly mocking voice, trying to ignore the tingling burning spreading through his forearm, "Rob a bank?" He laughs at his own joke, but the sound comes across more than a little forced, Michael's grip on his arm obviously painfully tightening until another grunt of hurt escapes Nathan's lips.

It's Sara who replies, stepping into the argument, desperate for breaking the two men apart. "No he won't, but does the name Lincoln Burrows ring a bell? He's Michael's brother and he's quite the overprotective type as well. And he has a nasty habit of getting away with murder." Then, she turns to Michael, addressing him quietly but steadily; "Let go of him Michael, you know he's not worth it."

Still looking livid, Michael's fingers finally untangle their painful grip on his opponent's forearm. Nathan's glance looses its sparkle, the mocking grin on his face vanishing at once, only to be replaced by a nasty glare. Instead of taking a step backwards, he chooses to make a daring move, stepping directly into Michael's personal space.

Before either one of them can react however, it's Sara who steps between them, quietly hissing in an icy voice; "Nathan, back off, _now_, or so help me God I won't care and go public with what you did to your wife all those years back, confidentiality be damned." The tone of her voice is fierce yet still rather calm and to Michael's immense surprise, Nathan does indeed back off. Dazed, he takes a few steps back, finally taking a proper look around, as if being scared of the onlookers instead of turned on for the first time.

"Nobody would ever believe a crack-whore junkie like you," he snaps, glaring when spotting Sara yanking Michael back and away from his reach. Pretending to dust off his suit, he throws one last remark after Michael's retreating form; "Say hi to that beefy brother of yours for me, will you Scofield?" Then he turns, making his way from the hall.

Letting out a deep breath, Michael lets Sara lead him by the hand away and out of the crowd room, his ears ringing. In an attempt to escape the still curious looks around them, Sara does the only thing that comes to her mind. Leading Michael towards the quiet sanctuary of the balcony, she is praying the whole way for it to be once again quiet and vacant.

Her heart nearly skips a beat at the sight of the cool, empty space. She doesn't hesitate a second and turns around. Without giving Michael any time to question her, she hugs him tightly. Then she brings her hands to his face, cupping his cheeks and forcing him to look at her. She wants to tell him she loves him, she wants to calm him down, she wants to laugh with him at the melodrama factor of the situation they've just found themselves in, but Michael seems not to share the same thoughts.

"What's wrong Michael?" she asks, noticing the distressed look in his eyes. He wants to look away but she doesn't let him, and as she finally manages to catch his desolated look, Sara slowly starts to get a hunch of what it might be that's troubling his mind.

"Is it my father you're worried about? Of what he'll think once somebody tells him about what just happened in there?" His eyes try to evade her again, confirming her suspicious. Angry, she brings her hands flat against his chest, steadying herself before semi-shouting into his face.

"Listen to me you horribly _stubborn_ man," she exclaims exasperatedly, the remark combined with her tone causing a small yet amused smile to elude Michael's lips. Encouraged, she continues more calmly. "You didn't make a scene in there, Michael." She utters his name with a heartbreaking tenderness. "Don't your dare let that prick Nathan believe he's managed to provoke you. He was way out of line, you snapped. I should be _thanking_ you for forcing him off my arm."

There is a moment when Michael's eyes shut tightly, his breath catching in his throat. "He just grabbed you really roughly." It's as if he needs her confirmation that what he did was right. She nods, her hands coming to caress the sides of his face. "Did he hurt you?" She shakes her head in denial and his whooshing sound of relief fills the air around them. There is something more on his mind though, a conflict she cannot put a finger on just yet, but then he finally admits it.

"I just don't want you to think about me as a man who cannot solve a single conflict without using force. You… you've seen so much bad from me Sara, the worst there is, really. And I don't want you to ever have to witness any more of that part of me again."

"Michael…" she is speechless for a moment, trying to find the right words before she goes for the simplest of options, listing all the things he's done right by her. "What _part_ of you are we talking about? The part where you saved me through the riots endangering all your plans to save your brother, the part when you gave me the origami rose and shaped an optimist out of a pessimist, or the part when you risked everything you've ever fought for and faced the authorities in order to trade my freedom for catching T-bag and giving up Westmoreland's money?"

Her words seem to make him only more uncomfortable and irritated.

"No. I am talking about the part where I _started_ the riots that nearly cost you your life, taking the keys from you that cost me your trust, and the part when I asked you to abandon every principle you ever believed in, in order to save my brother, all the while playing on your compassion, sense of justice and every feeling you ever might have had for me, all resulting into one of the biggest regrets I'll ever have…well up until the part where I left you alone to face the dangers of a prison while I was sailing off into freedom with my brother."

They seem to have hit the right nerve, a deafening silence stretching between them before Sara finally decides to break it.

"You didn't leave me there on purpose, Michael," she whispers softly, shocked at the amount of self-loathing in his voice.

"I didn't do much to stop it either, did I?" the anger in his tone catches them both off-guard.

"I thought we were past this Michael…" her hand caresses the side of his face, stopping abruptly when his hand comes to rest on the side of her abdomen, covering her scar.

"Can we ever be really?"

"Why are you always taking out just the bad parts out of our history?"

"Why are _you_ taking out just the good?"

A tiny smile creeps on her face, shaping a small grin. "Because I believe in the jing and the yang. And because without the bad, we could never have the good. And we would never have met. And that's just something that simply outweights it all for me." The smile that keeps tugging on her lips only seems to be growing when she starts to notice one of his own too, the darkness doing nothing to take away the beauty of the sparkle suddenly igniting in his eyes.

"Since when are _you_ the optimist out of the two of us, Doctor Tancredi?"

"And since when are_ you_ the cynic, Michael Scofield?"

"I prefer to be called a realist, thank you very much."

They look at each other lovingly, both breaking into a tender smile, their eyes sparkling with mischief in the darkness. Inevitably drawn closer, they share a series of small, tender kisses before they withdraw ever so slightly, their foreheads still touching.

"Is it just me or do you too feel like a naughty teenager sneaking around the house after curfew?" asks Sara, eluding another smile out of Michael.

"Nope, you are not alone. What makes it the more real for me is that I know your father is lurking somewhere nearby, making me jumpy at the thought of being discovered by him again."

She lets out a hearty chuckle, rewarding his lips with a loud peck. After a moment, a mischievous gleam invades her eyes as a thought strucks her. "You think Lincoln will be angry with me for threatening Nathan with his name?"

A similar gleam invades Michael own eyes, one corner of his mouth tugging upward and spreading into a huge grin. "I think he will never feel prouder of you ever again." They grin at each other again before sharing another kiss, this time a slow, languid one.

Stealing a glance at his watch, Michael sighs heavily. "Tell me again, when will it be socially acceptable to make a run for it?" He lets out an overdramatically weary sigh and Sara has to suppress a chuckle.

"Hey, it was _your_ idea to come here in the first place, and now you are the first who wants to run?"

"To say the truth, I only wanted to see you wearing this awfully sexy dress," he says flirtingly, a new, husky tone entering his voice and making Sara shudder. She automatically steps closer into his arms, her heart skipping a beat when his hands sneak around her slender frame, coming to rest just over the curve of her bottom.

"Oh, but you didn't have to drag me all the way here to get me to wear it…or less," Sara answers sexily, the amount of innuendo making Michael blush violently into the dark, momentarily being thankful for the shroud of darkness around them. Suddenly he feels lightheaded, as if his whole body is on fire. Letting out an airy chuckle, he involuntarily releases Sara from his hold, but not before planting another kiss to her lips. Turning towards the stony railing of the balcony, he begins to watch the shadows of the darkness while trying to bring his pulse under control again. Sara soon joins him too, pressing her side against his in a comforting manner, providing warmth and support he will never tire of. There is again the slight change in his breathing, followed by a deep sigh rumbling in his chest, and she knows there is another matter on his mind.

"Yes?" she ask amusedly in a low voice and lets out a small chuckle when his shoulders slump in defeat.

"You know me too well." Draping an arm around her shoulders, he kisses the top of her head, her auburn hair tickling his senses. Threading his fingers with hers over the stony rest, he finally utters another thought that's been on his mind for the past couple of minutes; "I was just wondering…how you knew Nate." His tone is uneasy, his heart falling when feeling Sara tense against him.

She doesn't shy away from his question however, giving him the shorter version of her history with Nate Lockheart, the biggest jerk she ever spent her four dates with. She tells him how he asked her out at one of her father's banquets, a successful starting congress lobbyist from a good house. She tells him how she didn't turn him down for two reasons, one to please her father, anxiously standing by and beaming at the very thought of his daughter spending time with what he would call a 'decent guy' for a change, second because she felt so damn lonely at that time that it literally hurt to come home with a single take out every day after a 12 hour shift, the only thing to talk to being her television. Those were the only two reasons why she accepted Nate's offer, something she would deeply regret not long after. The first three dates went rather well, she was pleased to find herself remotely attracted to Nate, able to ignore some of his pompous opinions and shallow worldviews in exchange for feeling liked and enjoyed again. However, the fourth date didn't go quite so well. Upon learning she was not available for the night due to a change of shifts at work, Nate got angry. Feeling rejected, he started to pick a fight with her. The squabble led to a huge argument that cumulated in Nate smacking her hard across the face. That was the last time she would ever see him in private.

Michael can't believe his ears. Stunned, the thumb that's been soothingly caressing her fingers stills in accord with his mind, his eyes sparkling in the dark. "If I'd known, I would have broken his arm today," he hisses, his voice seething with rage. His frame slightly trembling, it takes a couple of moments to get his ragged breathing under control again. "Did you tell your father what he did to you?"

She shakes her head in denial, looking out into the dark, her eyes strangely glistering.

"God Sara, why not?!" He cries maybe a little louder than necessary, making her wince. He is indignated - on her behalf of course - she knows, but his sharp tone does nothing to calm her frayed nerves and her voice starts to quiver when she uneasily continues.

"I thought…I was just scared he would refuse to believe me."

Michael's frames stills completely at that sentence, momentarily frozen in shock, then his heart breaks for her. "Why on earth wouldn't he believe you?" he asks tenderly once finding his voice again, his tone quiet and much calmer.

Sara shrugs confusedly, her shoulders starting to quiver as well, and when she speaks, her voice is more than a little unsteady.

"It was around the time when I started using, but nobody knew just yet. I was under a lot of stress and I started to take it out on my father. We argued a lot, I blamed him for everything that ever went wrong in my life, I blamed him for what happened to mom…it was not a good time. When I started dating Nate, I could see he hoped I was getting 'over my rebellious phase', all pleased I was finally 'seeing the light'. It was Nate who told him we broke up over a business dinner, although he obviously didn't give him all the details as to why. My father called me that night, shouting at me over the phone, telling me I was immature and ungrateful and that I let sail just about the best thing that happened to me in quite some time down the river, all over my silly pride and God knows what other reasons." There are tears in her eyes, but before they even start to fall, Michael is embracing her, his hand caressing the side of her head, giving her the strength to continue. "Michael, he was so enraged I knew that dropping a bomb like that, he would never believe me. But what scared me even more," she chokes over her words, decided to tell him everything now, "was that although I knew he never hit my mom and he hated domestic violence in any form, I was still scared he might try to blame it on me." At this point, her voice ultimately cracks and she completely breaks down in his arms sobbing uncontrollably, barely aware of Michael's long fingers stroking her hair, his lips whispering words of solace into her ear.

Holding the woman he loves in his arms and watching her helplessly as she cries makes Michael Scofield deeply regret he is not the kind of man his brother is. If he were a man like his brother, he would turn on his heels at this exact moment, walked back to the room and wiped the damn smug grin off of Nate Lockheart's face once and for all.

Instead he holds Sara firmly against him, patiently waiting for her to calm down before he starts to speak again.

"I know it's too late to give you any kind of advice now, but I think you should have told your father about this. Despite all I've experienced with him, and despite the fact he has a wicked way of showing it, it's obvious to anybody how much he loves you and how overprotective he is of you. Once he would have discovered what that prick had done to you, Nathan Lockheart along with his petty career would have been finished."

They stand there for a couple more minutes, neither of them saying a word and each lost in their own thoughts until it's Michael who speaks quietly again.

"Back inside, when we were facing Lockheart, you told him something about his wife…that you would make sure everybody knew what he was doing to her?" Michael asks, dreading his suspicions might be correct.

Sara sniffs loudly, bringing her hands to her face to wipe away the remaining tears, acutely aware and thankful for Michael's warm soothing touch against the sides of her head and neck.

"He married a year after we stopped dating. I'd met his wife on a couple of occasions, an extremely nice yet shy girl. I don't think they married out of love thought, at least not on Nate's part. She was brought to our ER a couple of times over the course of the next few months, always with clear signs of domestic violence…contusions, abrasions, bruising, broken ribs, twisted wrists and ankles…all kind of that stuff, Nate never seemed to leave her alone. I tried to talk to her, persuade her there was a way out, but she always refused, every time coming up with a silly story of how she inflicted the injuries to herself…you know, fell down the stairs, bumped against a doorknob…all kinds of BS stories…"

"Was there really nothing you could do?" Michael asks quietly, his blood boiling again, pulse quickening at the very thought of such helplessness. Yet he shouldn't be surprised, he's been in that position himself.

"I called the police once, persuaded her to press charges against him, but he was quicker, coming to the hospital with a bunch of fucking roses and a stupid sheepish grin on his face. By the time the police arrived, she once again claimed she was not abused but simply tripped over, and despite everyone involved knowing it was an outright lie, nor the police or me could do anything to help her. Later, Nate stopped by my office, smirking and telling me to mind my own business, boasting that what wasn't good for me was obviously good for his wife. I was so angry back then…" she lets out a deep sigh. "And that's not even the whole story yet…"

Michael's eyes widen even more, something he thought not possible. "What worse could there be?"

Sara sighs anew before continuing, her shaky breath betraying a sadness that appears more personal than compassionate all of a sudden.

"A couple of years back, Nate's wife's was brought to us again. She 'fell down the stairs', again, and was admitted with three broken ribs, a twisted ankle and genital bleeding. The exams revealed that she'd been pregnant, third month. She lost the child. Even worse, the "fall" and ensuing miscarriage caused the damage to be so serious she would never be able to carry a child ever again." There's a hitch in Sara's voice and Michael can't help but feel his own heart sinking, realizing this dreadful topic to ultimately lead to their very own loss.

"She cried herself to sleep the night after the doctors gave her the news, she was so devastated." Sara takes a moment before she continues. Her fingers are clawing and digging into the flesh of Michael's wrists, but he doesn't care. For now, they are both lost in a pain of a different kind. It seems to take an eternity and a great deal of effort for Sara to continue, this time directly addressing their own issue.

"I couldn't imagine back at that time, how horrible it must have felt for her, to know she would be, by one incident, stripped of the possibility to ever have a child of her own. Well…" she sighs deeply, her voice terribly shaking, "I can now…we _both_ know, because it will never happen for us either. The only difference between her and me was that back at the time I got the news, I was worried senseless about so many other things that this only seemed like another nail to the coffin…When Bruce told me what you were up to, I didn't give a damn about the stab wound, nor what the consequences would mean for us later, all I could think off was if I ever got to see you again." She's speaking quietly now, her voice having lost all its strength, now stripped of nearly any emotion, but Michael knows that inside, she is screaming with pain. In a way, he is too. _And it's all his fault._

Oblivious of his own personal conflict, Sara quietly continues, wanting to finish what she started, wanting to finally talk through what they tried to avoid discussing for so long now. "But with time going by and our lives gaining some semblance of normalcy, I sense that I am starting to think about it more and more often these days. And Michael, I never even realized how much I wanted it until I was stripped of the chance. I mean not now, not immediately, but having the possibility for a child of our own taken away from us…Michael, I know we don't talk about it often, but it hurts more than I ever thought possible," she says through gritted teeth, her hands clawing at Michael's wrists, her forehead coming to rest against his chest for support.

A torrent a big fat tears escapes her eyes at last and this time, Michael doesn't try to stop them before he lunges forwards, enveloping Sara in a painful embrace of his own, his cheek tightly against the top of her head as she cries.

"I am so sorry Sara…you have no idea how much. God, I wish you didn't have to go through this…I wish he could become parents one day too…" his whisper discloses a pain of his own, yet he continues it a fierce tone, his voice liquid devotion in her ear; "Yet is it shallow of me to say that despite all of this, I still feel like the luckiest bastard to ever walk the face of earth simply because I am allowed to have _you _in my life? Am I selfish to feel lucky to be given the chance to simply wake up each morning with you at my side?" he whispers, his voice trembling with emotion.

She releases a few muffled breaths before being able to form a comprehensive sentence. "No, it's not shallow or selfish at all. And I feel the same way. But it's exactly because of what we have together and how special it is…of what I thought I would – _could_ - never have with a man, that when I finally found that with you and I can't have it all, it's why it hurts so badly…"

"There are always other options…" he interjects gently, at the moment willing to suggest and convince them even of the impossible, anything really, willing to sell his soul only to see her smile again, see her unbothered by the knowledge of the heavy consequences her short stay in prison had on her health and their future.

At his words, she cannot help but snap at him bitterly; "Michael, we both know that with our history, no state agency in their right mind would ever entrust us with a child to look after or God forbid, adopt." She suddenly steps away from him turning away to gaze into the darkness, her frame coming to rest against the railing instead of him, posture still rigid but pained, and he is momentarily at a loss of how to help her, how to grant comfort, make amends for his mistakes.

_It's all his fault, he should never have left the country without her, should never have let her go to prison…should have come u__p__ with a plan more quickly, his freedom be damned. One week__…__ if he had been one week quicker,__ returned sooner, made the deal more promptly,__ she would never have been scared like this. _

They stand there for a couple of moments, both looking in opposite directions and none of them saying anything, then Sara turns towards him with unexpected force and velocity, the rash movement surprising and snapping him out of his dark thoughts. She outstretches a hand towards him, her eyes glistering with regret and apology.

"I'm sorry for snapping at you Michael. It's not your fault."

Her words do little to quell the horrible pain in his chest, the bludgeon of responsibility and guilt threatening to squash his insides. _He did this to her._

"It's not your fault," she says aloud, this time more forcefully, and when he doesn't come to her, it's Sara who crosses the remaining space between them, wrapping her arms around him.

"I never blamed you, not for a second," she says fiercely, pressing herself tighter to him, "It's not your fault, Michael. It just…happened. And we have to get to live with that. But I don't regret it, I never did, I'll rather have you - and LJ and Lincoln - for the rest of my life, than have a family of my own with a man I don't love."

"Maybe you could have both," he suggests, not doubting his words for a second. She could choose anybody, only a fool would reject to spend his life with a woman like her. Sara shakes her head against his chest, his face buried in her crisp white shirt. Finally, she throws a long and thoughtful look into the ballroom, before letting out a tired sight.

"Look at them Michael. Those are the kind of men I would have one day married if not for you."

Michael's eyes drift to the ballroom as well before returning back to Sara, some of the darkness receding, being replaced by an intrigued glow. "How do you mean?"

"Michael, if you didn't show me another life, I would one day for sure end up with one of _them_." Once again, her eyes drift to the ballroom. "The loneliness would get to me eventually. I would crave my father's approval, and I would be desperate enough to pick one of them." She feels slightly better when feeling his arms circle her waist, the tenderness of his touch bringing fresh tears of her eyes. _She would never trade him for anything else._

"And what do you see when you look inside, Michael?" She continues, "Do you see nice, polite and well-situated people talking about politics, economics, charity and art? Well, what I see is a bunch of rich white men who think they can get away with just about anything. I see gamblers, wife-beaters, abusers, I see manipulative men, men who disowned their own children because they outed themselves as gay, I see cheaters who'd rather buy a hooker than spent time with their wives and children, I see men who earn their money with the embezzlement of public funds, alcoholics and egomaniacs. That's what this society is really about. I know you think you don't belong here, and I agree. I don't belong here either. But not because we've both served time and been to prison and happen to earn our money with actually working instead of just inheriting daddy's money."

"I am sure not all of them are like that. You could have picked anyone. Anyone you ever wanted, anyone but me," says Michael, averting his gaze and looking out into the dark instead. Sara gently takes his hand guiding him to the railing, then simply presses her side to his, deciding to use this opportunity to explain certain things to him, even making him a lecture if that's what needs to be done in order to shake some sense into Michael.

"Michael, you and me both know that you never belonged to prison in the first place. And yes, these men never spent as much as a day in one. But they are in no way better people than you are. The only difference between you and them is that in times of need, they had somebody who would stand up for them, whereas you or Lincoln never did. You took a desperate measure in order to save somebody you love and who was innocent of a crime he was convicted of, whereas these guys lie and cheat and steal only because they know they can get away with it. That's the only difference between you and them. You are not like them, you are _better_! I've seen what you've been secretly doing this whole evening, comparing yourself to them, wondering if there was more they could offer that you, but trust me, they could never offer me more or even as much as you already have." There are angry tears in her eyes, and there are tears in his as well. Grasping the hand she used to poke him in the chest with the whole time she was speaking, he brings her closer to him, resting his forehead against hers.

"I love you so much," he whispers against her lips, his breath hitting her in a puff of sweet hot air.

"I know," she answers unsteadily. "You've proven that on so many occasions already that I still cannot understand why you keep doubting yourself. Just what you did for me at Bruce's party recently, choosing me over work and over anything else…it might be wrong and selfish of me because you've lost your job over it, but it was exactly the proof I've always craved someone would show me. Not my mother, choosing a bottle of bourbon over me, not my father, whose work was always more important than family, nor any of my previous boyfriends, who craved attention, status or simply the next fix more than me."

They stand in silence, watching each other, before Michael finally speaks, so quietly she has to strain her ears to hear him. "Thank you." It's simple and so inadequate as a response to what she just said, but he is unable to tell her anything more. He doesn't need to.

"You are welcome."

They glance at each other for what seems like a very long time, sharing a lingering look before Michael decides to break the dark atmosphere at last.

"Wow, what a heavy evening, huh?" he gives her a light grin, hoping he is not doing a mistake by trying to lighten things up a bit. She grins back, at him and he is glad.

"Yeah, I cannot believe nobody chose to come to this particular balcony for a smoke the entire evening."

Michael playfully frowns, "Technically, we've only been on this balcony for the past half an hour --"

"_And_ before, when my father came looking for us!" adds Sara, smirking at the memory of her father walking in on them at such an awkward moment.

"Aaaah, right," says Michael, batting his eyelashes sheepishly a couple of times, causing Sara to release a low chuckle. After a moment, her features soften and grow more somber.

"We good?" she asks him quietly.

"We are always good," He confirms without any trace of doubt.

They share a long tender kiss before untangling at last, Michael caressing Sara's face and trying to wipe off the smudges of smeared make-up, then he tries to comb her hair with his fingers into a respectable appearance once again.

"Ok Doctor, ready to face the sharks again?"

"Only when you promise me a reward of my choosing once we get home," she says suggestively, her features stretching into a wicked grin.

Michael's smile doesn't waver. "It's a date."

TBC

_A/N: Okay, still anybody left reading this story? I know I haven't been a good updater and that it's been ages since the last one, but I thought to make it up for you with this personal record of mine update, just for your information, 19 pages and __just over 10 000 words! So please, share your love with me and let me a review, so I know there are still people reading. Hugs you all!_


	11. Greek Gift Part 1

_A/N: To my dear betta Ashley – I love you for your carefull and considerate work on my stories, they make my work always a notch better. Your help is always greatly appreciated._

**Chapter 11 – A Greek Gift****(Part 1)**

Sitting in their darkened living room, unbothered to switch on any lights, Sara's eyes wander to the window, whereas her mind drifts off miles away.

The last three months had been…rough, to say the least. Michael's frantic yet still unsuccessful job hunt has caused him to sink into a deep depression, his shoulders always slumped a little further, his head bowed lower every time he came home to her with bad news.

It was not for the lack of trying though. Chicago being a huge city and the architectural gem of the whole country, there were plenty of offers for young and eager structural engineers. None of these positions it seemed however, available for Michael Scofield.

And with each new unsuccessful interview, Sara's spirits sink a little lower too, her heartstrings pulling a bit more painfully for the man she loves. She has never been bothered by the issue of money or social status, although truth be said, there was a fair lack of both recently.

But what's really been bothering her lately was the sight of Michael's spirit crumbling in front of her eyes with each passing day. He seemed to have fixed his focus on one single goal these days, and unused to not reaching any goal he's ever set for himself, the self-depreciation and angst she can see possessing his heart and mind every day is slowly starting to rub off onto her as well.

Originally, he tried - at least where she and his brother were concerned - to play it cool, play it down. But he couldn't hide the truth from them as little as he could hide it from himself. He suffered under his current situation, and what made it even worse was that his feelings of guilt and inadequacy were making the people he loved miserable as well. This was how Michael Scofield saw the world around him, and in a way, he was correct.

Sighing deeply, Sara cannot help but rise to her feet, impatiently walking the short distance between the couch and the window in a few quick strides. She leans her body heavily against the window frame, her suddenly throbbing forehead coming to rest against the cool of the window glass.

_If things were only so simple._

If it was only the disastrous job search that was bothering Michael these days, Sara was sure her and Lincoln could have done something to make Michael feel easier about it. But these days, it seemed that Michael seemed to struggle with more than just one issue.

With an uneasy knot forming in the pit of her stomach, Sara cannot help but remember all the discussions, arguments even, they've had in the last couple of months. Even before this she'd seen Michael work under immense stress, more than once, seen him pull off all sorts of crazy, life-endangering stunts and she'd even seen him wallow in guilt, fear and self-loathing. But never before had she seen him unable to cope with any situation quite like this.

He's been irritated and angry, one minute picking a fight with her over some silly matter and another one apologizing to her nearly on the verge of tears. His rapid mood swings left them both surprised, confused and at a loss of words. At first, Sara thought it was all due to his job limbo and the general misery of the whole situation. And after consulting with Lincoln, he only confirmed her worries; „_Michael without any job or occupation equals a ticking time bomb_.", he'd said to her.

So they've tried to occupy him as best as they could. Lincoln took him out for beers, forced him to work on his house, asked him to help LJ with schoolwork, and Sara…well, Sara found other ways to take any troubling matter off of Michael's mind.

But what seemed to have helped at first started to slowly backfire on them, Michael gradually growning irritated with their endeavors. Of course, a brilliant man like him, saw through their plan early in the game, but he seemed to be grateful at first, relieved even, by their arrangement. Yet not long after, he slowly started to throw it back in their faces.

Sara had to admit, she never expected to see her lover quite like this - so angry, irritated and vicious nearly all the time. A couple of weeks ago, on the verge of tears and paranoia after a particularly nasty fight – yes, a _fight_, something they've always seemed to miraculously avoid before – Sara called Lincoln and demanded he confirm her suspicions that Michael was simply trying to find a way out of their relationship.

Lincoln, behaving like a real big brother to her at her darkest hour, explained in a calming and soothing manner that whatever the hell was going on with Michael really had nothing to do with her. Lincoln admited that he'd been acting that way towards him and LJ as well and that once he even snapped at LJ for not being quick enough to understand a math assignment, to which Lincoln quietly but firmly sent him home to 'get some rest'.

"If anything Sara, it's you who's keeping him sane these days," he said, quickly continuing upon hearing her doubtful scoff at the other end of the line, "Seriously Sara. He knows he's behaving impossible and irksome, he told me on several occasions during his lucky Dr. Jackill mood swings. He told me how horribly he's feeling at times for treating you like that and that he doesn't understand what's going on with him when he snaps. Nearly crushed his scull against my wall one evening out of sheer frustration. I'm just sorry, and I'm certain Michael is too, that it's _you_ who's nearly always on the receiving end of these outbursts of his. I know it's not easy, and I know it's a lot to ask of you, _again_, but please, try to be patient with him, because he obviously can't be the voice of reason right now. I promise you though, I'll try to talk some sense into him."

That evening, Michael came home late with his head hung even lower and Sara knew that Lincoln must have fulfilled his promise in a record time. Wordlessly, Michael crossed their living room and for the first time in over a year she saw tears escape his eyes as he enveloped her into his trembling arms. When he saw she wasn't resisting, he brought her even tighter against him, and with a shaky voice, he whispered into her ear all she had wished to hear from him since she felt she was starting to loose him.

Later, as they were lying naked in their bed, a thin layer of sweat still glistering off their skin, he opened up to her at last, trying to explain best as he could what was going on with him, a process he couldn't understand himself in this unprecedented situation. He told her he loved her, apologizing over and over again for making her uneasy and doubtful about the nature of his feelings for her. He told her that his family meant everything to him, although she knew this by now fairly well. He told her he never thought - even after falling in love with her in the infirmary - that a woman could understand, fulfill and complement him as perfectly as she did and still did every day.

That night, Sara fell asleep peacefully with the thought that they'd finally talked everything out, that they'd made it over the top of the hill.

She's been wrong.

Michael's misery and mood swings prevailed, only now, he tried to mask them, cover them with excuses of headaches and tiredness and bad days. His attempts to shield his loved ones from his misery only made it worse as they were forced to watch helplessly as he struggled through each day in silence.

Enduring another two dinners with her father and the knowledge Michael still hasn't been able to acquire a proper job to support his daughter, had not been all too pleasant either. Both Sara and he Father were trying hard, and at least this seemed to boost Michael's spirits a little bit. It was, however, a double edged sword, on one side Michael's short - _always too short_ - happiness about Sara and her father's relationship on the mend, on the other side the feeling of utmost shame Sara knew Michael harbored every time her father asked about his proceedings in acquiring a job.

Waiting silently in the dark living room, Sara resolutely tells herself that today is the day.

Michael's having another interview at the moment, one that looks promisingly for a change, and she really hopes it will work this time, for all of their sakes. However, she's been living with a master planner for quite some time and knows that one always needs a plan B. So if this interview doesn't go the way they're all hoping, Sara decides to put another plan into action. One that she dreads pulling off, because surely it will involve a lot of shouting and a lot of denial, but she is willing to do absolutely anything it takes to get Michael back on track again.

She's been playing with this thought for months now, always trying to delay the inevitable, but she's a doctor and she cannot ignore it and wait any longer. All the symptoms seem to point to one thing, and despite on a personal level it causes her to feel like she failed him, as a doctor, she knows she couldn't have done anything to stop it from happening.

All those mood swings, fatigue, loss of weight, insomnia, headaches, displaced anger and misery indicate for Sara one over arching problem – clinical depression.

She tried to convince herself otherwise for weeks, her heart tried to bargain with the doctor in her that this was just a bad time in his life, that he only needed support and maybe a little bit of luck to get a job and then everything would be okay again. But she knows now she cannot ignore his symptoms any longer. It's been too long and if anything, it only seems to get worse, and she knows she owes him at least that much as to detach herself from her private insecurities in order to help him in his darkest hour.

So today is the day. Either Michael comes home beaming and successful and she will give it another few weeks to observe and see if his mood improves, or he comes home crestfallen – _God, she wishes __this scenario never to occur ever again, for it pains her to see him like this just the same__ –_ and she will try, as gently as possible, to persuade him to see somebody professional who can help him. Because frankly, she is at a loss as to what to do herself. She cannot help him anymore, and that thought wounds her more than anything she ever thought could.

Standing at the window, Sara can feel her insides shake with fear. She knows how much Michael is suffering, she knows how hard he is trying for her and Lincoln's sake, and the very last thing she wants is for Michael to think she believes he's some kind of unstable failure who needs to see a shrink because he's not able to get his life in order again.

But she loves him too, and she knows she cannot watch him torture himself like this any longer, not one single day more. She's spoken to Lincoln about this, and got his full support, and she is more than glad for the backup. Still, it doesn't make the task at hand any easier.

Then, she is berating herself mentally. Who said Michael didn't come home with good news for a change? The interview looked really good, in fact, comparing to all the other ones, it looked more than promising. This time, it wasn't Michael applying for the position, it was the company itself that sought him out.

_God_, Sara quietly prays despite never being a religious person, _let him get the job and feel like the wonderful, brilliant man I know he is._

A key rattles in the lock and the door opens. One look at him tells Sara everything she needs to know.

The interview must have gone beyond bad.

*x*x*x

Michael walks into their apartment, a place he's always viewed as his sanctuary, a place where everything around him is a reminder of his life with Sara, his own personal heaven.

Tonight though, the place feels strange, the feel of betrayal accompanying Michael ever since he found out the truth about his interview earlier today. He knows Sara is home, her keys are in the bowl sitting on the cabinet next to the front door, but the place feels empty and is shrouded in darkness.

Then he spots her, quickly emerging from the sitting room, her eyes expectantly on him. Within seconds she notices his slumped shoulders and loosened tie, and her eyes immediately soften. Her gentle look nearly kills him. He doesn't want her pity, he doesn't deserve her compassion. Not again.

She starts to cross the room, her arms already on the rise in order to hold and comfort him, her voice quiet yet fierce. "I'm so sorry Michael." She hugs him tight. "I really hoped this time would be different."

He lets her hold him, unable to resist her sweet consolations, then his own arms sneak around her. For a split second, he pushes his doubts and suspicions aside, letting the smell of her hair invade his nose and senses.

He is home.

Her head is pressed against his shoulder, the moment is so familiar yet never tiring. All too soon the spell is broken, her voice breaking the silence, disrupting the peace and brining all the details of his horrible day crashing back to him with a sickening force.

"What happened? What didn't they like this time?" her voice is a little bit muffled against his shirt and in an irrational but powerful surge, he feels the need to distance himself from her.

Untangling from her embrace and taking a few steps back, he walks around her and into the sitting space, heavily lowering his aching frame onto their sofa. "In fact, there wasn't a thing they _disliked_," says Michael with a chilly voice, something that takes Sara aback. Following him, she sits next to him, her hand coming to rest on his thigh.

"What was it then?" she asks, her heart lurching when Michael slowly maneuvers out of her touch.

"They offered me the job-"

"But Michael, that's wonderful -"

"- but I declined," finishes Michael and Sara notices, for the first time, the cold fury clouding his gaze. Standing, she quickly switches positions from sitting next to him to sitting opposite him, lowering herself unceremoniously on their coffee table so she is able to look him in the eye.

He finally raises his eyes, his gaze burning into Sara's, and despite having to act against her every impulse, she doesn't reach out to touch him, to take his hands. His odd behavior is unnerving her, she doesn't know what to do with the situation, so she waits.

She waits for a long moment, Michael's gaze nearly burning her. He acts like he is seizing her up, like he is looking for a hidden clue, an answer to a question Sara doesn't know. He doesn't seem to find what he is looking for, because when he finally speaks, his voice a tiny bit warmer. He's looking all of a sudden lost and more than a little bit tired.

"Please, could you honestly answer me just one single question?"

She is so unnerved that she is able only to nod in response. She doesn't know what this is about, but whatever it takes she will do everything to get the Michael she knows back to her. Because right now, the man who is sitting in front of her is looking at her with distrust, and even though she doesn't know the reason and she can't possibly think of one, it's breaking her heart.

"Did you know about it? Did you _ask_ him to do it?" His eyes are glued to hers, his gaze inquiring, calculating, as well as beseeching.

Now she is really confused. She stammers against her next words, really worried for his mental health now. "Knew about what? Michael, what are you talking about? I didn't ask anyone to do anything…" her head is shaking in denial, her voice an octave higher than usual.

The panic in her voice must get to him at last for he lowers his head in shame, letting out a long tired breath. The headache that started building right after he left the office seems to have done nothing but increase ever since he got home.

"What's wrong Michael? Please, talk to me? You are scaring me."

Her eyes are frantic and moist, he notices, and he knows he owes her an explanation. And an apology, he remembers with a deep lace of shame. _He should never have doubted her…_

"I'm sorry Sara. I know I'm not making much sense…I just…" his eyes avert, closing momentarily, and he brings his fingers up to press against the bridge of his nose. A burst of nausea hits him and the pain in his skull feels like somebody has slammed his brain against the inside of his scull.

The press of two warm palms against his cheeks brings him back, Sara's worried gaze coming back into focus once he opens his eyes again. Despite the darkness, he can see the anxiety in her eyes. Her hands come to cradle his aching scull, trying to guide him to lie down on the couch.

"C'mon Michael, rest for a whi-"

"I'm fine," he snaps, wondering momentarily where his anger came from. He is not angry with her, but her hovering makes him irritated. He is not a little boy, he doesn't need to rest. He just needs to explain to her before the fury from before grips him anew.

Looking at Sara, he nearly winces at her sudden submissive position. Still sitting on the coffee table with her hands quickly withdrawn and now tightly squeezed between her legs, she looks at him seemingly patiently, but her eyes are betraying her.

She thinks he's lost my mind. He cannot blame her.

Taking a deep breath, Michael finally explains. "You know that I was called to an interview I didn't apply to." He states the obvious just for the record, watching Sara nod. "Well, the interview went well, up until the point when I asked how they came across my name."

Michael takes a deep breath, unsuccessfully trying to suppress the anger and humiliation once again bubbling under his skin. Sara only nods again. He has to squeeze his next words through his teeth so he doesn't hiss. Still, the momentary outrage seems to cloud his judgment, because he doesn't take care in choosing his next words.

"Well, as it appears," he starts, sarcasm and coolness coating his voice, "the only reason I was offered the position was because the CEO wanted to 'return the favor to the _governor_'." His eyes dart into her, his blue gaze steely, cold. "The truth is, they didn't pick me because they thought I was _good_, but because I am screwing the governor's daughter." The moment his last words leave his mouth, he knows he should regret them. They are crude and offensive and they don't seem to fit his mouth. Yet somehow, he is so angry and tired and fed up with covering and sugarcoating everything these days, that he doesn't care anymore.

This last for only the first five seconds. Then the belated feelings of shame and regret start to take over. She doesn't deserve this. Chancing a look at Sara, he is about to apologize for his vulgar, insensitive words when after a moment of stunned silence, Sara finally speaks. Her voice is indignated, but not with him as he would have thought.

"Son of a _bitch_!"

Michael is taken aback. He surely didn't expect such a reaction.

"I cannot believe he's done it again! What the hell is he playing at?" The indignation in her eyes, the hurt and betrayal mirrored in them is the last drop for Michael. _He screwed up again._ Her eyes are roaming the walls for a moment, then they crush back to him, her gaze turning fierce and accusing.

"And _you_! You thought I arranged that? That I had something to do with that?" she is angry with him too now, and he cannot blame her.

Michael slumps against the cushions, utterly spent. His head feels like it's being squeezed in a vice. Throwing it back, he closes his eyes, his lids burning and aching like sandpaper.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have made any assumptions like that…" he sighs, his ears ringing. _This is not how __it was suppose to be, not the way __he should have handled this delicate __situation__._

"Damn right, you shouldn't!" Sara raises to her feet, starting to pace the room angrily, like a caged animal about to attack its captor. Slamming her fist into the light switch, the room comes to light, Michael's eyes wincing and shutting in pain at the sudden brightness.

His eyes finally adjusting, he now worriedly watches Sara pace the room, enraged and muttering under her breath. She disappears momentarily in the bedroom, only to emerge a short while later, something clutched in her hand. His eyes follow her to the kitchen where she rummages through the cabinets. The sound of running water can be heard, than she is back at his side, slumping heavily on the edge of the table again, a glass of water in one hand, two pills of strong Tylenol in the other.

"Here, take this," she says, outstretching her hands towards him in a gesture that clearly states she isn't going to take _no_ for an answer.

"How did you -"

"Oh c'mon Michael, I can literally feel the migraine rolling off of your skin," she dismisses his question with a scoff, shoving the glass and pills again into his face.

"Take them."

Not wanting to argue with her, and rather touched by her concern despite being so preoccupied with his and her father betrayal, he gratefully takes the pills, emptying the glass in a few hasty gulps.

"Thank you," he croaks, his eyes seeking out hers, which are now blazing with anger.

"I'm sorry," he whispers.

"For what? That my father is a sneaky bastard with obsessive-compulsive controlling issues or for saying you are _screwing_ me?" the sudden cool in her voice hurts him more than his migraine, but he knows he deserves ever bit of it.

"Well, for both actually," he utters quietly, honesty lacing his words. "But right now, I am more sorry about the last part because it's me who said those hurtful words. I'm sorry Sara, for being so cynical and crude. You don't deserve it," he ends in a whisper.

She holds his gaze steadily then something in her look breaks, her eyes averting from him.

"To be honest, I regret the first part more…" she whispers in a shaky voice, her shoulders slumping. He reaches out to her, but this time, it's her who pulls away.

"He meant well," says Michael, trying to convince her of something he didn't believe himself a couple of hours ago. Only now, being confronted with Sara's feeling of betrayal, his own anger towards Frank Tancredi seems to magically subside into nothingness. Because whether he likes it or not, this is not about him.

She speaks her next words through gritted teeth, her eyes momentarily swimming with angry tears, "How? How could he possibly of meant well by humiliating the both of us, arranging interviews behind our backs, messing in our private matters in such a crude, intrusive way? He knows I hate his favors, he knows I hate using his contacts, and yet, despite knowing this, he does so anyway?"

"Sara…" he reaches out anew, her rigid posture making him momentarily forget his own humiliation and discomfort. She pulls back again, averting her eyes.

"You should go get cleaned up," she says, her lips in a thin line, her eyes still moist, her look hurt.

"Please, we could-"

"We will talk about this later," she interrupts him curtly then adds in a more gentle tone. "You need some rest. Go get cleaned up, take a long, hot shower. Then we'll talk, okay?" she says, finally looking at him. She takes a deep breath, closing her eyes. When she opens them again, she looks calmer, composed even. There is a sudden glow in her eyes, a determination that takes Michael by surprise. Before he has a chance to think about it further however, Sara is rising from the coffee table and grabbing his hands to help him stand before she ushers him into the bathroom.

"Go get cleaned up Michael," she repeats. In the doorway he turns however, taking Sara by surprise when he envelopes her in a tight embrace.

"I'm sorry Sara. For everything. Now I'll take a quick shower and we'll talk about this all thoroughly over dinner, okay?"

"Okay," she says, her lips stretching into a small smile that hardly reaches her eyes. There is something odd about it, about the way she stands, about the way she looks at him. Before he has time to think about it twice, she closes in on him, pressing a lingering kiss on his lips.

"How's your head?"

"Better already," he lies, his scull feeling like exploding.

"Liar," she retorts with a small smile. "But give the Tylenol a couple of minutes and you'll be as good as new." With that, she pushes him through the door of the bathroom closing it behind him.

*x*x*x

The water is pleasantly warm, hot even, the way he loves it. Taking his time, Michael let's the spray massage his neck, his back, the tiny knots in the back of his head uncurling. Slowly, step by step, he feels the tension leaving his body. True to her words, the pain meds seem to be working, his migraine subsiding significantly, only a dull ache being left instead.

Shampooing his head, Michael cannot help but smile when remembering how Sara always makes fun of his short hair, playfully calling his use of shampoo a waste of time and resources. A sudden urge of loss hits him and a craving to be close to the woman he wounded so thoughtlessly just minutes ago fills his soul. Feeling guilty and a little more than ashamed for his sharp reaction to her father's actions, he realizes his wounded professional pride may have gotten the better of him.

Now thinking about it more clearly, relaxing under the pleasant and warm spray of water, his headache subsiding, Michael only now realizes the extent and implications of the whole situation.

In the past couple of months, they've had dinner with Frank two times and the man always seemed genuinely interested in Michael's job hunt. Maybe he really just meant well, wanting to ease the situation for him and his daughter. Could Michael really blame him? He's been living off of Sara's pocket for months now, a fact he's loathed ever since he lost his job.

He wasn't one of those proud men who couldn't bear to be with a woman who earned more money than him, no, the problem was a completely different one. He loathed to be dependent, on anybody, he was ashamed to leave the money problems to Sara while he was taking months to find a job. He was saddened by the thought he couldn't offer her more, couldn't be the man he so wanted to be for her, the man he knew he could be in another life, and maybe in this life too, if given another chance. He wouldn't screw up again.

Sighing deeply, Michael puts his fingers on the water tap, stopping the warm stream. No need to beat oneself up about it now, there's nothing he can do about it. What he _can_ do however, is walk out of this door and spend a nice evening with Sara, who - thanks to his tactless disclosure of her father's involvement in his today's interview – is fuming and aching, feeling betrayed and humiliated by her father's actions, on his account too.

He steps out of the shower, drying himself with a soft white towel, one that Sara always thoughtfully leaves for him because she knows it's his favorite one. Smiling, he puts it around his waist, making up his mind. He will walk out of here, fetch some dinner and gently force Sara into bed with him to eat it. Then he'll pick up on their unfinished conversation from before, this time taking another approach on the issues, a more tactful one. Sara and Frank have come such a long time in the last couple of months, a stupid misunderstanding or mistake cannot be the reason for this all to end in nothing. Not like this.

They will talk it through, he will try to soothe Sara's anger and ease the pain of betrayal in her as she has done for him countless time before. He will try to persuade her to call her father, invite him in for dinner and try to clear the air with him, confronting him with his sneaky behavior, asking him not to do it again. It will be difficult, to say the least, Michael is not naïve. Sara and Frank are equally stubborn and rash in jumping to conclusions caused by their previous disappointments, but Michael will be there for her, all the way.

With a new plan in his mind, Michael finally walks out of the shower, automatically looking for Sara as he crosses the apartment to their bedroom to retrieve fresh clothes. The unusual quietness and darkness of the whole place surprises him. Checking the living room properly, then the kitchen, he makes his way to their bedroom, expecting her to be curled on the bed – _she's probably just tired and went ahead to bed_.

However, finding the room dark and empty, a feeling of dread starts to creep up his chest, her calm demeanor and determined eyes right before she sent him off suddenly making a horrible, sickening sense.

Checking the key bowl near the door, his suspicions are confirmed. Not only are her house keys, but also their car keys missing, and there are only two places Michael can imagine Sara might have gone.

Panicking, he rummages through his discarded things, finding his phone. Dialing Sara's number, he listens to the ringing sounds for a couple of moments before another, faint sound in the apartment catches his ear. Following it, he finds the source in their bedroom, Sara's phone discarded on their bed.

Michael curses deep under his breath, his pulse quickening. Not wanting to make the worst assumptions right away, he ends the call to Sara's phone only to start another one, this one to his brother. He waits impatiently, drumming his fingers on the wooden frame of the bed, when at last, on the sixth ring, his brother finally picks up.

"Hey there Mike, what's up bro?" Lincoln's voice is cheery and it's the worst message Michael can receive, yet he asks anyway.

"Linc, is Sara there by any chance?" he says without preamble, holding his breath for his brother's reply, still clanging onto the last shred of hope.

"No," says Lincoln, the cheeriness out of his voice and replaced with worry. "Why, what's wrong?"

The air in Michael's lungs leaves his body in a quick rush, his posture slumping in defeat.

"Linc, I fucked up."

TBC

_A/N__: Okay, so I would love to hear your thoughts.:) Reviews are love and inspiration and they make me write the quicker, so be sure you leave one on your way out. ;) Also, criticism is always welcome, I mean it, as well as guesses and suggestions about the plot.:) See you all hopefully soon! _


	12. Chapter 11 – A Greek Gift Part 2

_A/N: A big thanks to __SpunkyAR__ for the wonderful beta and a huge thanks to __Addicted2MiSa__ for the beautiful chapter 17 update on her story __What Lies beneath__._

**Chapter 11 – A Greek Gift****(Part ****2****)**

The road to Springfield is relatively empty, the traffic light in the evening. Halfway to reaching her destination, it starts to drizzle, the road becoming wet and slippery. Despite the enormous anger gripping her insides, Sara is careful. She certainly doesn't want to end up wrapped around a tree, at least not before she gives a piece of mind to her father.

She cannot believe he did it again, so rudely and thoughtlessly interfered in her life, this time disrupting not only her privacy, but Michael's as well. She recalls Michael's angry posture, his distant look, and she cannot blame him.

Years ago after leaving rehab and months of counseling behind her, she decided to try to find a medical position again. Mentioning it to her father was the hugest mistake she'd ever made. Right after, he started to bombard her with offers from various private clinics and prestigious hospitals, none of which were positions she would like to accept, especially after her time in rehab. The shame and humiliation left her feeling like she needed to do something special, to really _help_ people in order to redeem herself from her past sins. Her father wouldn't have any of it. He tried to persuade her to take any of the positions he arranged for her, and once she refused, all hell broke loose. Calling her an immature ungrateful addict, he threatened her that if she didn't take one of his "respectable" job offers he would cut ties with her publicly. If privately too he didn't mention, but Sara had a good idea that her father was one of those people who wouldn't have a hard time doing so. Only by sheer chance and through the help of Brad Bellick – the irony of which isn't lost to Sara – she managed to get a job, all by herself. She literally basked in her father's displeasure at both, the fact she got a job in a maximum security prison, as well – an probably even more importantly – the fact it wasn't _him_ who secured the position for her.

All in all, interfering in her life was one of Sara's hugest objections she had against her father, a man who always tried to control her every move and decision, in every way possible. Ever since she was a child, whether is was picking out a boarding school or choosing what she would study – something she repudiated with great pleasure – to what men she should date and what rehab she would go to, it's always been Frank Tancredi's call.

He always made her feel like a small child, a useless person unable to take any responsibility, unable to take care of herself and make her own decisions. And once she finally slipped and fell into her addiction, her father helped her from it only to remind her every single day how useless and incompetent she was and to whom she could be thankful for her current life.

Previously in her life, she had no-one else to rely on, therefore being forced to lean on her father when finding herself in a sticky situation, but she's always despised it greatly. Because being in debt of Frank Tancredi always came with a high price to pay. He never did anything for free, never without a 'tiny' counterservice to even the score. Yes, Frank Tancredi, her _father_, kept score. And she hated to always hold the shorter end of the stick.

However, this was a completely different situation. This was maybe even more personal for Sara, because this time, Frank tried to pull into his sick tit-for-tat games a person who had nothing to do with their dysfunctional relationship – the man she loved.

And why exactly now, at this difficult time for Michael - for all of them - would her father chose to crush Michael's small remaining ego by trying to gain a position for him by favouritism? Michael being so unhappy and dissatisfied and _fragile_ lately, Sara felt an even more overprotective surge towards him. And her fathers tactless actions hurt him even further.

How dared he humiliate Michael like that, letting him go to an interview where he was directly told his only qualification for the position was dating the Governor's daughter? The memory of Michael's crude statement of that fact caused Sara to wince.

She tried, God she really tried in all her might to humor her father this time, to do everything right. And she let herself believe her father was trying just as hard himself. But Frank Tancredi wasn't playing by the rules, bending and twisting them as always, trying to gain the upper hand over them instead of trying for a balanced relationship where nobody would need to hide some extra aces up their sleeves.

Driving in silence, Sara is lost in her bitter thoughts, each breath bringing a new sad memory, another disappointment out of the vast repertoire of her childhood as well as adult life, and each new memory causes her blood to boil a little more, until once she reaches Springfield, she is so enraged she is willing to break arms and legs around her.

She parks the car and crosses the large front lawn in a record time, never minding the two security guards she has to pass on her way. Trying to tame her raging emotions while she is invited in by the housekeeper and led to see her father, it only causes her fury to grow. So when she finally enters her father's study, she feels like telling him everything that's been pressing against her chest for the past couple of decades.

Frank Tancredi is sitting there at his mahogany desk, overviewing some legal documents, all relaxed and calm. When he lifts his head, he even gives a surprised yet warm smile in her direction, which only serves to fuel Sara's rage further.

"Sara, what a nice surprise. To what do I owe the-"

"Save it, dad," Sara snaps, interrupting her father rudely. She doesn't care, a trace of sick satisfaction coursing through her veins upon spotting his shocked expression. "How could you? How _dared_ you?" she is half shouting, but she doesn't particularly care. She will shout at the top of her lungs if that's what it takes for her father to finally hear her.

Frank's expression hardens, his mind finally catching up and concluding Sara didn't come for a social visit. "I have no idea what you are talking about, but I would prefer you not to shout. You know these debates never end well."

_Is he mocking her now?_

"How dare you arrange a job interview for Michael behind his back, behind _our_ backs?"

Recognition finally seems to dawn upon Frank, who straightens in his chair just a little bit, as if preparing for a fight.

"Well, obviously, the CEO of Marks and Davis misunderstood me, I asked him to keep this private." He says coolly, looking at Sara as if discussing mere logistic of the whole situation. It takes her a moment to find her voice again.

"Do you have _any_ idea how much damage you've done?"

Frank's eyebrows merely rise in innocent surprise, a gesture causing Sara's fists to curl into two tight balls. "Damage? I certainly don't know about that. I know you don't like me helping you in your matters, but surely, you agree that after all these months, Michael needed some extra help."

"Nobody asked you!" This time, Sara's voice rises so high it can definitely be classified as shouting. At her words, Frank's face contorts in an angry grimace, yet he tries to keep his voice calm.

"Nobody needed to ask me yet I considered it my _duty_ to take care of you when Michael couldn't," said Frank, his voice a low grunt, starting to drip with suppressed anger.

"And you think by humiliating him you will help us? _How_?"

"I told you, Michael wasn't supposed to discover it was arranged by me, nor weren't you, for that matter," Frank tries to defend his point.

"That's hardly the point!" exclaims Sara. "Why dad, why are you trying to control my whole life?" All of a sudden, there is moisture in her eyes, "Why isn't anything I ever do good enough for you?" her voice gains a tint of despair and breathlessness, "Why isn't who I am enough for you? You cannot fix me, this is who I am, this is as good as I can get!" she finishes, her voice losing its strength.

"I just wanted to help Sara," utters Frank, taken aback by her outburst and the presence of sudden tears. She wipes them away angrily, her gaze glaring at her father.

"Well you didn't! You just made everything worse. You never cared about how Michael or I would feel about this, all you thought about was how your life would look to the public, your lousy daughter living with an unemployed con, that's all you ever cared about," spats Sara, never minding to mince words anymore.

Color enters Frank's cheeks, hurt and anger finally entering his eyes and voice, "Don't you dare Sara! I've tried, I kept my promise, I tried to give him a chance and I waited patiently, although it was killing me to be forced to step back and watch how he lived out of your pocket, month after month, while you were paying the bills and living on cheap takeout, having no social life and no future being offered by that man. So excuse me if I dared to ask a guy who owed me to give your boyfriend a chance. I've leaned out of the window here too, my reputation was also in line if Michael screwed up, but I did it for you, and this is the way you pay me back?" Her father finishes, his face red, his voice angry and fierce.

Sara's anger subsides, being replaced by disappointment and hurt. "Nobody ever asked you to do it. We manage quite alright on our own, thank you very much. Michael is a brilliant man who is going through a difficult time, and we would have made it with or without your help. I am not ashamed by the way we live, and I don't mind being the one who has to provide for us right now, because before, it was Michael who did it. But that's hardly the point, because believe it or not dad, Michael and I, we don't keep a score."

They stare at each other quietly for a couple of moments, neither saying a word, until it's Frank who interrupts the stunned silence.

"I really had only your best interests in mind, Sara," he says evenly, but there is a slight cool in his words.

"I don't care dad," she replies rather wearily, "you broke the rules."

"What rules?" calls Frank out in indignation. "I've been playing according to all your petty '_rules'_ from the start Sara, no matter now hard it was to bite my tongue most of the time, I did everything I could to humor you, I spent time with you and Michael, even that churlish brother and nephew of his, all in order to keep you happy and content. And now that I go further and try to help you some more, you punish and tell me off for that? That's really something Sara, even for you," he finishes angrily.

The two of them seize each other up for a moment, then Sara says with a beaten finality in her voice; "The thing is, dad, you went too far this time. And the saddest part is, this time, I though we actually had a chance…" she trails off, her eyes glazing over once again, not daring to look at her father.

"What do you mean by that?" asks Frank, his voice breathless and a bit fearful.

"I cannot do this anymore dad," says Sara, raising her eyes to meet his at last. "I cannot do this," she repeats, "with each time it gets more and more difficult. I cannot continue to pretend nothing happened and shake with fear waiting for the other shoe to drop, _you_ making another 'slipup', hurting me more. I can't dad, God knows I've tried. The deal is off." She says at last, watching her fathers eyes widen.

"What? Only because I tried to help?" He gives her an incredulous look.

"No. It's because you broke the rules," says Sara, her voice trembling with anger again, "you promised to give Michael a chance but all you did was wait for the right moment to interfere into our life, trying to sneakily regulate it the way you would wish it to be. You never came to us, offering us your help-"

"Well you would have declined!"

"Yes I would!" she snaps, "And you would have had to accept and live with that! But you rather chose to go around us, trying to arrange everything so we would do your bidding without us even knowing! Don't you have any sense of respect for our own choices?"

"Well, look where your choices have gotten you so far, sweetheart," her father deadpans, his voice cool.

A tear slips down Sara's cheek and she has to bite on her lip to stop it from trembling. It takes her a moment to gather her thoughts together, to tam her temper, before she is able to continue.

"Despite seeing me a few times these past couple of months, you really haven't understood a single _thing_, have you dad? I've never been happier in my life, never felt more content, never felt more loved. And I am sorry you refuse to accept that, judging me by your own standards, because _you_ wouldn't be satisfied with the way of life I'm leading, but it's not about _you_. You know," she starts but halts herself, wondering if she should disclose this last private part of herself to him, then realizing it doesn't matter anymore, "my whole life, I wished you would put - at least for one day - my happiness in front of your own."

She rises her hand to stop him when she sees he is about to interfere, continuing quickly. "No, not the type of happiness _you_ would want for me, what _you_ believed would make me happy, no matter what my own feelings on the matter. I wish you would listen at least once to me, _hear_ me, and rejoice in my happiness with me, regardless of your own feelings on my life. Do you understand dad? Just for once, I wished you would make it about _me_. Call me selfish and childlike, but that's a wish I harbored ever since I can remember and never got it granted. And it's probably stupid and naïve that up until today, I still hoped I could have that one day with you."

Not waiting for her father to respond, Sara makes her way out of the mansion and to her car, quickly pulling out and speeding away. Only when she puts a reasonable amount of space between her and the mansion does she allow the tears to finally escape her eyes, at the same time pulling her foot off the speeding pedal. Her eyes blur from the tears, while the windshield from the heavy rain. It seems the heavens are weeping along with her.

She stops at a gas station half way back home, exiting the car and walking a couple steps away. Her fingers are digging into her sides painfully and she's doubling over with pain and sorrow, letting the rain wash over her in an attempt to cleans her very soul.

She screwed up, her father screwed up, Michael screwed up…and now all she knows is she is again an orphan, left without a parent or any immediate family to call her own. Lonely and sad.

She cries for a couple of minutes, her body wrecking with sobs, her clothes soaking wet, hair plastered to her face. Soon she doesn't care about the difference between her tears and the drops of rain, mixing and flowing down her face, neither seems to be able to take the pain away.

She stands and cries there for what feels like hours, thought it's really just minutes. Completely in her own world, she's startled when a man comes up behind her asking if she is alright. Finally realizing where she is and what she's doing, she knows it's time to head home.

She thanks the stranger but dismisses him with a nod and a wave of hand, confirming she is okay, despite never feeling less okay in her life. But the interaction helps her to gain some sense of sanity again, and she enters her car making her way slowly home.

She is soaked to the bone, her clothes and hair uncomfortably sticking to her. She is cold, trembling even. She doesn't know how she makes it home, she is driving on autopilot, on the outside cool and composed, on the inside screaming. Her mind is replaying every part of this impossible evening, and all she wants is for it to stop, this whole dreadful day to end. She simply wants to wake up in the morning and find out this all was just a giant mistake.

Finally arriving home, she realizes just how late it is. The parking lot is full, the streets are dark, and the strange calm that surrounds her seems to be amirror opposit of her insides. Parking the car, she's suddenly cautious of her surroundings as she crosses the lot to the door of their apartment building. It's late and she is not that tired of life to be wandering carelessly through the streets of Chicago at night.

She gets to the building safely and closes the door behind her with a loud thud, but the short quick walk across the lot depletes her of all her remaining energy and suddenly, she feels like she can hardly stand on her feet.

She doesn't feel anything, no emotions whatsoever, only a dull ache somewhere deep in her chest, an ache she chooses to ignore and deal with some other time. For now, she only needs to get out of these freezing, dripping wet clothes, have a quick hot shower and hide in her bed and under the sheets like a small child, hiding from all the monsters lurking under the bed or in the closet.

She wants to sleep for ages, dreamlessly, painlessly.

She turns the key in the lock and pushes the front door open. Michael is there, right at her side, frantically talking, something about being worried and her being soaked and cold, inquiring where she's been and how she got in such a state, if she were okay and unharmed, but she doesn't have the power to listen properly nor offer any reply. He is again asking where she was, but she still doesn't reply. She is unclothing herself as she goes, throwing the wet pieces of clothing to the floor in her wake, not bothering what will happen to them. Michael tries to stop her, tries to find out what happened, what is wrong with her. He is scared – and guilty as hell, she can tell – and she doesn't want to add to his fear, she really doesn't, but right now, even the simplest tasks he is asking from her is hard to muster. She holds her hand against his chest, holding him at bay, knowing she cannot indulge in the comforting part just yet. She is not entirely sure, but she has the sinking feeling that a small part of her is blaming him, blaming him for ruining her newly restored fragile relationship with her father, and despite knowing this to be an irrational thought, she cannot shake it off.

She murmurs something about being alright but desperately needing a shower_;__ 'Alone_', she has to add when he makes no move to walk out of the bathroom and she nearly has to push him out, closing the door against his face.

She takes her time, letting the hot spring warm her chilled bones; the rain and tears and something else, far more personal and painful, having soaked her up until the bone. She slips at the bottom of the stall, not able to hold herself any longer upright, her head buried against her knees. A few more tears escape her eyes, but they are just the faintest echo of the violent ones that escaped her eyes an hour previously. The ache in her chest is only a dull reminder of the pain she was forced to face this evening.

She forbids herself to think anymore about her father and scrambles to her feet and this time takes another couple of moments to actually wash herself. When she finally leaves the bathroom, only a towel wrapped around her slender frame, she tiptoes to the bedroom in search for her pajamas.

Michael is in the kitchen, the soft light illuminating the rest of their small apartment, and she is glad she doesn't have to switch on the light. The dark suits her more tonight. Even in her state of mind, she notices the absence of her soaked clothes, courtesy of Michael's thoughtfulness, she is sure, and her heart seems to melt a little by the simple gesture. Getting into their bedroom, she pulls out an old Northwesters T-shirt and a pair of slacks, then she slips under the covers soundlessly. The light in the kitchen dies, Michael's quiet footsteps echoing through the apartment as he makes his way towards their bedroom.

He slips into the room soundlessly, coming to her side of bed and the distinct sound of glass gently hitting the wooden surface of the night table rings through the room.

"Please, have some water," he pleads quietly, his voice breaking.

She wants to thank him, she wants to reach out to him, yet she seems to be paralyzed. Another silent tear escapes her eyes and this time she is sure it's because she is once again touched by his simple gesture of affection and care.

She doesn't want to fight, she doesn't want to talk, she only wishes to disappear from the face of earth, her pain gone with her demise.

Michael makes his way around the bed to his side, unaware of her thoughts, albeit having a fair good guess at them, Sara is sure. Lying down carefully he keeps his distance, yet at the same time she can feel him scoot right behind her, leaving only the tiniest crack between their frames so they don't touch.

"Sara," his voice rings in the darkness, and this time, she is able to find her voice, albeit it sounds a little foreign and unfamiliar.

"I don't want to talk about it Michael," she says quietly, but her message is clear. "But could you…" she starts anew, but her voice breaks again, tears she thought she didn't have anymore left entering her eyes anew, a big lump forming in her throat, "Could you please just….hold me?" she finally chokes out, the tears escaping her eyes upon feeling his arms envelope her, sneak themselves around her in a gentle and warm embrace, his solid front pressed against her back. His face comes to rest against the crook of her neck, his nose nuzzling into her hair. Gripping his forearms with her hands, she claws her fingernails into his flesh, holding onto him as if for dear life, and he presses her against him even further.

"I'm so sorry-" he starts, but she resolutely shakes her head.

"Not today," she manages to squeeze through gritted teeth and he finally seems to respect her wishes.

"Okay," he says, exhaling deeply. They lay like that for a couple of moments, neither of them speaking, yet allowing the other to comfort and be comforted in return.

"I love you," Michael whispers in her ear, pressing a soft kiss against her neck. She cannot respond with words, so she threads her fingers through his, giving them a light squeeze.

"I don't blame you," she breathes out at last, feeling him momentarily tense behind her.

"Maybe you should," his velvet husky voice carries to her ear, the words filled with self spite and regret. She doesn't want to hear it. Not the words, nor the tone. She is tired of being the strong one all the time, tired of being the source of comfort. For once, she wishes to be held and comforted in return.

"It was my decision, and it's done now," she replies curtly. To say the actual words takes more power than she's ever thought.

"I love you so much," Michael merely repeats, as if those words were the answer to her every question and problem in the world. And maybe they are, at least for tonight.

That night, she cannot sleep. They lie awake together, silently, embracing for a very long time, but sometime during the night, she feels Michael fall asleep, his breathing changing, deepening. She can't blame him, he had a crappy day himself, suffered a heavy migraine and – she is no fool – obviously spent the past couple of hours pacing their apartment horrified with the thought of where she was and what might have happened to her.

She listens to him sleeping, taking comfort in the steady rise and fall of his chest, stroking his forearm, exploring the warmth of his skin with her fingertips and touching the small goose bumps her touch is leaving on his skin even in his sleep.

She wants to believe everything is going to be alright again. But for now, all she knows is that her father has managed to break her heart again.

TBC

_A/N:__ Comments are love and the more you leave, the quicker I'll write, that's a well-tried fact. ;) Am off to vacation for a couple of weeks, should be back half-through July. In the meanwhile, I hope you all do well and won't forget about this story. :) _


	13. Chapter 12 Joy and Grief Part 1

**Title:** Sins of our Fathers  
**Characters**: Michael Scofield, Sara Tancredi, Lincoln Burrows, LJ Burrows, Frank Tancredi, Bruce Bennet, OC  
**Pairing**: Michael/Sara  
**Word Count**: approx. 3800 words  
**Rating**: R for some language  
**Chapter**: 14  
**Genre**: Romance, Family, General, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, AU

**Summary:** _A year since Sara's trial for aiding and abbeting, going differently than in canon. Frank Tancredi didn't die at the hands of the company. Although Sara, Michael, Lincoln and LJ have a content and happy life, there is one thing troubling their existence – the broken relationship between a father with his estranged daughter. Will Michael find a way to save what's left of their relationship?_

**A/N:** _Dearest_ spunkyar ,_ you are simple made of AWESOME!_

**Chapter 12 – Joy and Grief (Part 1)**

She was sitting on the uncomfortable stool in her office, her lunch break long gone and patients waiting. She knew this, but all Sara could do was ask her nurse Sam to give her ten more minutes.

She was weeping, silent tears sliding down her cheeks, her blurry vision still trained upon the little piece of paper – recent lab results she ordered to be done this morning – and she still couldn't believe the words.

_Pregnant_

Actually, it's only one word, but it's a one that carries so much meaning behind it that it's just unbelievable. She knew something wasn't completely alright the past few weeks with her, her cycle skipping her date, the enormous fatigue, crankiness, nausea, dizziness. Yet all this time, she had assumes it was just a pesky sneaky virus, a stomach bug, anything really but this.

Yet in her defense, how could she? True, the possibility had crossed her mind once or twice, sneaking into her consciousness from the dark painful box she left locked at all times, yet she always pushed it away. Letting herself hope and then being disappointed in such a cruel way would have broken her heart all over again.

At the hospital after she had suffered from her stab wound, she'd been rather cynically told by the doctor that there was the possibility she would never conceive or bear a child. She refused to acknowledge it then, telling herself it was too early to determine a diagnose like that, in her still preoccupied with thoughts of Michael's safety while hunting for T-Bag.

Once things settled down however, and Michael took her home, her wound slowly healed and the question of birth control came up. She didn't tell him then, didn't have the heart to say it out loud to him, as well as herself, so she quietly made an appointment with her gynecologist.

Her diagnose was the same, this time making the impact much more crushing. The doctor might have been gentler, but his words still cut through her heart like a sharp knife.

She would never have children of her own. She asked about the chances, asked about the odds. She knew however, saw it in the doctor's eyes as well as heard the pity in his voice, his words that 'nothing was ever sure and medicine was never exact', were only lies of mercy. That day, knowing Michael was waiting for her down in the lobby, she had to ask the doctor for a few extra minutes to compose herself until she was able to leave his office.

It wasn't as if she'd planned to try for a child immediately after things settled down, nor was she the type of person to coo and goo over every stroller that passed her. She was a children's person though, that much she knew; despite the fact she never particularly craved one herself. Maybe it was her parents and the disaster of a marriage she was forced to witness, maybe it was her own insecurities about being a responsible adult, a _parent_, while still an addict. Always an addict. And then there was the question of the possible father of her future children. She dated a lot, if you could call it that, but never in her entire life had she met a man by whom the thought would cross her mind that he'd make a good father. At least not until she'd met Michael Scofield.

And now, that she could have it all, not immediately of course, but with time and love and careful preparation, she was robbed of that chance. She never knew how much she wanted it until she's lost it, and it hurt more than she could imagine.

That day, they drove home in silence, Michael feeling something wasn't right, but always the considerate one, he let her have space and waited patiently for her to come to him. She did, that very evening. There was not much use in beating around the bush, so she told him, boldly and nearly emotionlessly.

The news hit him too, and harder than she could ever have expected. The remorse, pain and _guilt_ were overwhelming, and she found herself being the one to console him that night instead of the other way around. His head in his hands, the darkness and self-spite that enveloped him scared and shook her tremendously. She knew him, maybe better than anybody else except his brother, knew how much he suffered from other people's pain, especially the one's he loved and especially when he thought he was to blame. And that night she couldn't persuade him otherwise. He was broken, convinced he was the one responsible for her being mutilated beyond repair. At the end of her wits as to what to do, she hypocritically slipped into what she hated most about doctors, about what she despised herself only hours prior. She told him nothing was ever sure and that maybe, one day…

They gave it one last shot a couple of months later, went to see one of the best specialists in town. The news was the same, although the doctor had at least some more answers for them. It didn't change the fact however that her injuries were too severe, the scarring too deep. The doctor told them the same as the one before…that they shouldn't give up. At least, instead on empty words, he was the first one to have proof. _Not wanting to give them false hope_, he said, _the chances were nearly non-existent, yet, there were cases he witnessed himself, where pairs which had been told over and over again never to conceive in their life, finally fell pregnant. Those were, indeed, literally miracles. Yet they existed_.

Experience has taught them that miracles didn't exist in their world. However, by a silent and mutual agreement, they never used protection again. Because, what was the harm in tempting faith?

Months went by and they slowly grew realistic, coming to accept that some things simply weren't meant to happen. They rarely spoke about it, the subject being still a sore one, especially when people in their environment started to hint and ask questions about possible offspring. First it was her colleague Sam, then some other people from the clinic, some of Michael's prior co-workers and even Bruce's wife and her children. They always merely smiled politely, the non-committal shrug supposed to tell the questioners it was still too early to say, a subject yet to be discussed between them. Every time this happened however, Michael's hand always wrapped around Sara's under the table, their fingers laced in a tight painful squeeze.

And now she was sitting here, in her very own office, with her blood-work test in her hand – the second one she had ordered that morning just to be sure, not daring to believe the first one – tears of joy and shock still sliding down her cheeks. Slowly, very slowly, the joyous news started to sink in and a wide smile started to spread through Sara's features.

Making a quick decision, she called in her nurse, deciding she would let her patients wait only a couple minutes more. Because there was something she definitely needed to do first. Doing the math in her head quickly, she knew she must be at least seven or eight weeks along. And that meant she could do a sonogram right away to be hundred percent sure.

When Sam entered the room and saw the state her friend was in and she was completely lost at what to think. Without a word, Sara handed her the lab work, the huge smile on her face mixing with the sobs and tears running down her cheeks. It took Sam only a moment to fully comprehend what her friend was trying to tell her before she let out a squeal of joy and hugged her, both women sharing a laugh.

"I need you to do something for me, Sam," said Sara, her voice hoarse. "I want you to help me do an ultrasound."

Five minutes later, the unmistakable sound of a heartbeat could be heard in the small office, Sara's eyes fixed tightly on the monitor. There, as tiny as a peanut, was her child. _Their_ child. A fresh wave of tears glided down her cheeks as she watched the tiny life, her hand grazing the side of her abdomen that wasn't covered in jelly.

_She was going to be a mom. _

She always thought the idea would freak her out. She'd been wrong.

"Shall I print out a copy for you?" asked Sam quietly, aware of the huge impact the emotional news was having on her friend. Sara merely nodded, her eyes unable to unglue from the monitor.

***ooOoo***

"Oh, c'mon dad, that's so unfair!" beefed LJ, when his father took the basketball from him for the seventh time that afternoon. Lincoln merely grinned, scoring another shot.

"You need to workout more LJ. Soon, your ass will pop out from your slacks if you keep eating pizza and hamburgers like that!"

"It's _you_ who's feeding me all those things in the first place…" grumbled LJ quietly, but loud enough for his father and uncle to hear him. A second later, LJ was already sprinting across the court, his father tight at his heels.

Michael stood in his place, merely waiting for the other men to end their antics and return back to finish their game, but a smile was dancing across his lips. It was a good idea to come out and play a game or two with his brother and nephew. At least he wasn't sulking another day away in the apartment, waiting for Sara to come home only to witness the same look she had on her face every night – caution. He noticed it too, their every nights ritual when the keys rattled in the lock and she stepped in, her eyes immediately seeking him out, silently assessing whether he was in a good mood or wanted to pick a fight with her again.

The mere thought caused Michael to wince. He loved Sara more than anything in the world, and yet he recently managed to start arguments with her for the smallest of reasons. It was not like he'd _wanted_ it, it was more like a…compulsion. And it wasn't only with Sara. It was also with Lincoln, or LJ, and sometimes, he felt like he was entrapped in his own body, forced to watch how he was continuing to hurt the people around him.

Recently thought, he'd been trying to control his temper. Sara had enough on her plate as it was, working long hours, being the sole breadwinner, having to deal with his inability to find work and on top of it all enduring his stupid silly tantrums.

Not to mention the huge fight with her father over a month ago that left her downcast and heartbroken in a way he has never seen her before, no matter how hard she tried to mask it. And he knew he took a huge portion of the blame for the whole situation, not able to control his temper that fateful night when he came home from the interview arranged by Frank Tancredi. He could,_ should_, have treaded more carefully, yet he was so enraged and humiliated back then that he let it out on the very first person within reach that happened to be Sara.

Michael sighed, his eyes still watching the now struggling figures of his brother and nephew in the distance.

What was only wrong with him? He loved Sara, so much that it sometimes hurt to be away from her, and yet he kept on hurting her. It wasn't like him to behave this way; he never treated a woman like that before, any woman whatsoever. And yet, the one he loved the most he countinued hurting and it was like he didn't recognize himself anymore. Maybe the events at Fox River and the time being on the run changed him in more ways than he would like to admit. Maybe he couldn't be the man he was before anymore. Maybe he couldn't be the man he's promised to be for her after all.

The thought hung in his stomach like a huge chunk of ice.

She was so special and was just the best thing to ever happen to him, so how come he couldn't make it work? There wasn't a single doubt the fault lay entirely with him and he wished to able to do something – anything – to make things right again.

A headache started to generate in his scull, quickly, the pressure causing his hand to shoot upwards to cradle his cropped scalp, his eyes squeezing shut. _Not again…_

He could hear two pair of footsteps coming closer, no doubt his brother and nephew, but the pain was so sharp he couldn't bring himself to open his eyes.

"Hey Mike, you okay?" asked Lincoln in his gruff voice laced with concern. Michael managed a small nod. A small gasp coming from LJ caused him to open his eyes at last.

"Uncle Mike, your nose is bleeding," the boy said with concern, his eyes flicking between his uncle and father.

"Fuck Michael," said Lincoln as he stepped closer, inspecting Michael's nose closer.

"It's nothing," said Michael quickly, taking a step back and wiping his nose with the back of his hand. It was crimson, again.

The look on Lincoln's face was one telling Michael he wouldn't take any of his shit.

"Did this happen before?"

Michael didn't answer.

"Did this happen BEFORE?" asked Lincoln anew, his voice rising into a shout.

Michael shrugged, not looking at his brother. "Couple of times. It's no big deal-"

"NO BIG DEAL? What the fuck are you playing at Michael! Does Sara know?" shouted Lincoln, ignoring Michael's as well as LJ's flinch at his tone.

The pressure in his head was building, the pain sharpening and concentrating on one particular spot in his scull, but Michael wasn't paying attention. He needed to calm down his brother, _now_.

"No she doesn't," he said in a voice far calmer than he felt at the moment. "And you are _not_ going to tell her," he finished more resolutely.

"The hell I ain't, she needs to know, about _this_. Does she know about _mom_?" The rage in Lincoln's voice was only concern, Michael knew. Still, he felt his own panic and anger rise at the prospect of burdening Sara with additional baggage that might not mean anything.

"She doesn't, and she _won't_," repeated Michael in a quiet voice, his tone strangely menacing. "You tell her one word Lincoln, and I'll never forgive you. Now end of discussion, I am tired."

He turned on his spot in order to walk away, but something felt odd. He swayed in his spot, his legs suddenly unwilling to support him. The ground shifted beneath him and he felt himself falling, unable to do anything to stop it. He heard a deep voice shout his name before he hit the ground but then all went black.

The next time he opened his eyes there was the flashing red and blue light of an ambulance, the loudness of the siren causing his eyes to blink several times. Somebody was talking to him, a voice he didn't recognize.

"My brother…" uttered Michael feebly and soon enough, Lincoln's face appeared over him.

"I am here Mike. They're taking you to the hospital."

"No," he protested, "No hospital."

"I am not discussing this with you," said Lincoln, anger and a trace of annoyance detectable in his voice.

Michael tried to sit up and surprisingly, a couple pair of hands helped him up, supporting him.

"Sir, can you walk?" a female voice at his right asked. He nodded, hoping he wasn't lying. With their help he slowly stood, supported by Lincoln and the female paramedic. Slowly, they made their way to the back of the ambulance, Michael walking up the few steps and sitting down on the side bench himself, albeit heavily supported.

"Can we ride with you?" asked Lincoln the paramedic, who shook her head.

"I am sorry sir but no, that's the protocol. You can follow us in your car though, we're driving to County General." Lincoln only nodded. He was about to turn and head to his car when Michael's voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Linc, don't call Sara," Lincoln turned, hesitating.

"Michael, she is your girlfriend _and_ a doctor, she can help," said Lincoln uneasily. He knew he simply _had_ to call her; she would never forgive him if they kept something like this from her. Hell, there was no way they _could_ keep something like this from her. Michael was sick and she needed to know.

"Please."

It was so unnatural from Michael to plead; to hear him beg for something, it nearly made Lincoln cave.

"She needs to know, Michael," he tried to reason with his brother, his voice calmer.

"I know," said Michael, his voice hoarse, "but not like this, not right now. You'll only scare her if you call her now, telling her I was taken to the hospital. Let us find out what's wrong first, maybe it's nothing and we'll terrify her for no reason," he pleaded. Lincoln knew that at this stage, he couldn't deny his brother anything.

The paramedic sitting next to Michael gave a small cough, her hand on the door of the ambulance, waiting impatiently for the conversation to end.

Finally, Lincoln gave a slow nod. "Okay," he said, "We'll meet you at the hospital."

"Thank you," said Michael, a long breath of relief leaving his lungs before the doors of the ambulance finally closed behind him.

***ooOoo***

_The CAT scans show that there's an undefinable mass of growth in your frontal lobe Mr. Scofield, probably a tumor. Whether it's malign or benign, we cannot tell yet, we need to do more tests. The nosebleeds, mood swings, headaches and other abnormalities in your __behavior you were experiencing in the past couple of months were probably the symptoms of the mass growing in your brain and pressing on some other parts responsible for these functions. We will take a biopsy right now, the nurse will take you to the OR and I'll explain everything to you, don't worry, it won't take long. We will have the results by tomorrow morning, you can come then and we will discuss the next course of treatment. I am sorry. _

That's all the doctor said, and it was more than enough. The three of them were still sitting in one of the exam rooms in the ER, all speechless. Two men were concerned about the well being of their family member. The family member in question was thinking of more than his medical condition right now. What concerned him most in this moment was how he would break this news to the woman he loved without destroying her heart all over again.

They sat in silence, the only noise the crunching of the paper where Lincoln's fists squeezed at the examination table. He was livid. He's been down this road before and he couldn't believe faith would hate him so much as to try and take another person from his life again like that. _It was not fair, why Michael, why not him?_ He would happily trade places. And yet, he knew the answer long before. He was never like his mother the way Michael had been. Apparently in all aspects possible.

LJ was sitting quietly, feeling surrealistic, nearly like a fly at the wall. He couldn't believe it, still couldn't believe his uncle might die from a brain tumor. But no, Uncle Mike would surely not die, he was a genius, he would come up with something, as he always does, wouldn't he? The sinking feeling in his stomach told him he didn't believe his own thoughts.

Michael's thoughts at that moments were far more simple, but still grave. His mind was picturing a single person, soft copper hair, warm chocolate eyes and tender healing hands. If he knew, if he knew this would happen, he would never have dragged her into this. He would make sure she was fine after the whole mess, he would take care of her from a distance, making sure she would go on with her life. But he would never have promised her a future he now was sure he couldn't guarantee.

She would be forced to take care of him, go through everything with him that would only bring her pain and sorrow and for what? Either to watch him slowly – or quickly, _God, he hoped for quickly_ – die, or be left as a medical cripple. Not a man who could offer her a real life, a real home, safety, security – financial as well as emotional.

It seemed he only existed to torment her, and he wasn't even man enough to wish she had never developed feelings for him, because frankly, those feelings were everything he seemed to live for these days.

His head felt heavy, his neck suddenly too weak to support it. He cradled his scull in his hands, his elbows resting on his thighs.

_Sara_. _God, how am I only to tell Sara? _

He didn't realize he said it out loud, until he felt Lincoln's heavy hand rest over his shoulders, giving a deep sigh, then he started half-whispering into his baby brother's ear.

"Listen Mike, you're going to do the biopsy. Then I'll drive you home. You'll sit down with your woman, take her hands into yours, and simply tell her. She is a doctor, so she will understand. Then, you are going to hug her and hold her while she cries. And then, when she's calmed down enough to actually listen to what you are saying, you'll tell her you love her more than anything and that you are prepared to do absolutely everything to beat this thing, alright?"

Michael was silent for a moment, then nodded. Lincoln couldn't help but embrace him tightly, suppressing the moisture gathering in his own eyes. "You are going to be okay Michael. You've fought too damn much for all of this to end like this."

They stayed like that for a couple of moments, then Lincoln let go of his brother.

"Thank you," uttered Michael quietly, his head still cast down.

"I'm here for you bro, whenever you need me."

Michael merely nodded.

TBC

_A/N: Okay okay, so I know some of you probably didn't expect this twist in the story, but trust me, it's been planned out right from the beginning and has its purpose…well, I hope.;) The next chapter, Sara will tell Michael and Michael will tell Sara. Or will they? ;) *evil laugh*_

_Let me know what you think, comments make me write faster!_


	14. Chapter 12 – Joy and Grief Part 2

**Title:** Sins of our Fathers  
**Characters**: Michael Scofield, Sara Tancredi, Lincoln Burrows, LJ Burrows, Frank Tancredi, Bruce Bennet, OC  
**Pairing**: Michael/Sara  
**Word Count**: approx. 4500 words  
**Rating**: R for some language  
**Chapter**: 15  
**Genre**: Romance, Family, General, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, AU

**Summary:** _A year since Sara's trial for aiding and abbeting, going differently than in canon. Frank Tancredi didn't die at the hands of the company. Although Sara, Michael, Lincoln and LJ have a content and happy life, there is one thing troubling their existence – the broken relationship between a father with his estranged daughter. Will Michael find a way to save what's left of their relationship?_

**A/N:**_Okay, another long pause, BUT, this time, it wasn't really my fault. The mail got lost somewhere between my Beta's and me and where I thought she was still working on the corrections, she thought I haven't yet gone over the changes. Well, s*** happens, right? Anyway, thank you so much Ash, you are a wonder. All the rest of you – enjoy! _

**Chapter 12 – Joy and Grief (Part 2)**

It was already dark and Michael was still not home. He had texted her about an hour ago, telling her that he was with Lincoln and she was not to worry, but truth to be told, she just couldn't wait for him to come home so she could finally tell him her news. She was so excited she was barely able to sit still, the TV only a blaring background noise while her thoughts were scattered elsewhere.

She wondered about the outcome of her announcement, of course she did. Not every feeling she had was of happiness, there was also insecurity, nervousness and fright. The thoughts of something happening to her or their baby, the lasting possibility of suffering a miscarriage, and last but not least the thoughts of Michael worrying too much about them all, left her feeling more than a little uneasy. Still, underneath all this, her main emotion was joy. Yesterday, she was acquiesced with the fact she would never have a child of her own. Today, she was pregnant. This was a big change. And despite all the problems the new situation might bring that needed yet to be solved, this _was_ something they'd wished cried and prayed for.

Michael has been trying so hard lately, she could tell. Although his moods and headaches didn't improve much, Sara saw how much he was trying not to let out his frustrations on her and she was grateful, albeit still worried about him. He was always down due to his unemployment, feeling guilty for 'doing nothing' while she took on double shifts to pay the rent, and her recent split with her father left a tiny scratch on their relationship as well. He knew that as well as she did, although they've never addressed it, the silent agreement between them being that they didn't talk about it anymore.

Her father had tried to contact her more than once ever since, but she wouldn't respond. He'd left messages and sent her an apologetic note attached to a bunch of flowers she immediately threw away. He even tried to reach her through Michael, calling him to apologize, asking for his help in making amends with Sara. This turned out to be a huge mistake, because it got her even more enraged considering it was his interfering into Michael's professional life that caused all the damage in the first place.

Due to Michael's deep frustrations still being present, Sara didn't confront him with her fears and worries over his mental health, like she had originally planed on that fateful night she drove to Springfield to face her father. She could have done so later on, but after the incident, Michael really seemed to improve, or at least tried to really hard.

Maybe _this_ news was exactly the thing that could spur him further, give him the energy he seemed to be lacking lately. This could be the inspiration and hope he needed in order to open up all the potential Sara knew lay currently dormant under the dark layers of pessimistic fog clouding his brilliant mind.

Maybe it was indeed a miracle that was needed for Michael Scofield to finally realize that faith didn't hate them that much after all. That the higher force - if there was any - forgave them for their past sins, gifting them with something they thought they would never have.

She was being a melodramatic mess with her current thoughts, Sara realized with a smirk, but well, she certainly could justify it. Eight weeks of pregnancy seemed as good an excuse as any to be a little bit emotional.

Eight weeks. God, it's already been eight weeks. True, she's been a little sick and nauseous, but never did she believe them to be a symptom of a pregnancy. It was definitely not like the things she would always read and hear about in books, on television or from her pregnant friends; "_I thought I was going to throw out my whole stomach all the time during my first trimester…_", "_Oh, I felt like I was run down by a train the first ten weeks, I could barely crawl out of bed I was so sick all the time…_" All the same, Sara knew she should have known better. After years of practicing medicine she should have put two and two together.

_Some doctor she was_, Sara thought with a hint of amused irony.

Her sonogram picture was hidden in a single white envelope now resting on the coffee table in front of her and she could barely contain her fingers as they itched to extract it once again and trace in unison with her eyes over the outline of her baby as she had done all day long. If she continued like this, the picture would be worn out even before Michael would get to see it for the very first time. She resisted the urge to take another peak, taking a sip of her water instead, her eyes eyeing the envelope nevertheless. Glancing at her watch, she truly hoped Michael would be home soon.

A trace of uneasiness lurched in her belly, making her direct her thoughts to a more grave matter. _What would Michael say and how would he react?_

She wasn't afraid that he'd be anything short of happy, that much was certain. She'd seen the broken look in his eyes when they were so many times told the inconvenient truth that they'd probably never have a child of their own. She also knew the sadness in his eyes wasn't solely for her own benefit, not just due to the bludgeon of responsibility and guilt he felt for inflicting this upon her, although that was a huge part of that too. She knew, deep down, that Michael harbored the wish to be a father someday too. _With her and her only_, he stubbornly stated some time later during one of their evening talks that turned to this sore topic. Sara half-heartedly suggested then that it was not _him_ who was damaged. It was also one of the few times she really saw him angry with her, extremely angry and hurt. She understood, because she wouldn't have it any other way. Although this was not something she bargained for when they'd met, she knew that if she had the choice again, she wouldn't do anything differently. Michael Scofield was and ever would be the best decision she's ever made.

Scolding at her watch, her face pulled into a frown. Although being with his brother, it was unusual for Michael to be out so late, especially on a week night and when they weren't out _together_. She was just about to pick-up her cell to ring him again when she heard a key rattle in their lock. A nervous bubble suddenly boasted in her chest, her hands starting to tremble with anticipation. Her fingers gave the envelope one more involuntary stroke before they traveled to her hair, then her shirt to smoothen it out in a nervous gesture.

They were going to become parents. And she was just about to tell the man she loved that a miracle had happened and that he would, with luck, be a father soon.

The nervousness mixed with uneasiness as well as anticipation. She didn't want his first reaction to be of worry. She didn't want his mind to jump directly towards all the trouble this unexpected and unplanned situation would cause, making him think about their financial instabilities and his lack of employment and the level of safety and health – hers as well as their babies. They've been told all along about the possible difficulties that could occur once she succeeded in miraculously falling pregnant, about the higher risks and complications that might lead to a miscarriage, especially in the course of her first trimester. All these were very scary things to think about, all of which she had at least twice contemplated in the course of the past twelve hours already, and she didn't want him to have to go through that as well, at least not immediately.

She knew him all too well, knew he would obsess about the smallness of their apartment and the need to build up a nursery, about buying baby stuff and about her well being, about how she would have to quit work sooner or later while he was still unable to support her the way he believed he should.

She didn't want him to think about any of this right away, right after the words "_I'm pregnant_" would tumble out of her mouth, during the moment he should be filled with joy rather than apprehension. Later, yes, it would be inevitable to think and discuss all of these things, however today should stay unspoiled and one to cherish only. A miracle was finally happening for them that should be honored with an evening full of joy and calm and not a single trace of doubt or worry. She loved him too much for that.

Tomorrow he could start his planning and plotting, she would not stop him. But today was to be spent together in simple happiness and joyous anticipation.

The door opened and a bubble of laughter erupted from her throat and escaped her lips before she could help it, because the silliest cheesy phrase came to her mind just as Michael stepped into the room, his eyes immediately searching the apartment for Sara, and she couldn't help but think with a twinge of mischievous merriment the words: "_daddy's home"._

The first thing Michael Scofield noticed when he entered the apartment late in the evening was the darkened atmosphere, the only source of light a few crème colored candles burning in the living room. The next thing he noticed was the chuckle she was trying to hold from erupting within her before she gave in and let it out, her face lit with one of her most rare smiles that made his heart flutter in his chest.

Her good mood and obvious reason for merriment, which had yet to be discovered, made it even worse for him. He knew he was about to burst her bubble too soon and too cruelly.

The next thing he noticed, while he called his greetings with a faked sense of calmness while he shook off his jacket, was a single white envelope that rested on their coffee table. For a second, he gave in to his curiosity and wondered what it might mean, then he forced the thought aside.

If he was to tell her, he needed to do that _now_.

His chest constricted painfully, his heart being crushed by a deadly weight. He was most likely dying, but he knew the pain he felt did not come from his medical ailments. He was certain that the most painful thing he would have to do was to tell the truth the women he loved. He was never afraid of death. He was only afraid of what he would be leaving behind.

Giving a quiet sigh and squeezing his eyes shut for the shortest of moments while his back was facing her, he hung the jacket on the rack, spending another second to simply run his hand over the rough material. It was just another second she was spared of the horrible news.

For a fleeting moment, he considered excusing himself in order to shower first. After all, he'd spent the afternoon playing ball with his brother and nephew, but he knew that once he slipped into their daily routine, there was no way he would be able to break it and admit to something like that in the midst of their usual dinner orders.

Turning with his determination set, he crossed the space still separating them and took Sara into his arms. She seemed a little taken aback by his too enthusiastic greeting, but she didn't complain, merely melted against him.

"Welcome home," she said while contently humming into his ear and his heart nearly burst with emotion. He did everything in his power to push away the tears that suddenly sprung to his eyes.

_He was supposed to guide her through this, not break apart in front of her. She was what mattered most, and he would not screw this up, he wouldn't let his own regrets get in the way._

"Took your time," she commented quietly, her face turning in his embrace to put a sweet kiss against his neck, but she didn't step away from him, merely drew closer.

"Sorry, I was held up with Linc and LJ." It wasn't a complete lie.

"It's okay," she whispered soothingly against the side of his face, her warm breath caressing the lobe of his ear and sending goose bumps rising up all over his body.

He needed to get some space between them, _now_, or he'd be doomed. Clearing his throat, he finally let his hands fall away and took a step back. That's when she looked into his face properly for the very first time that evening.

She gave a small frown when her eyes stopped on the thick band-aid covering the left side of his forehead. His insides made a flip.

"What's this?" she asked, her fingers coming to caress the white square. Then her face stretched into a small knowing grin before he even had the chance to respond. "And don't tell me you caught an elbow playing basketball, I won't fall for that one twice," she added jokingly.

She could have stabbed him right in the chest with a rusty knife and it would not have been more painful then what he was feeling at the moment. He gave a feeble smile, shaking is head. "Actually, it was Linc shoving me against the pole," he said, watching her surprised expression before she shook her head amusedly, her face stretching into an even wider grin.

"_Men_," she beefed.

He didn't know why he was lying to her when she actually just gave him the perfect opening to start what he had to tell her. "_I had a biopsy,_" he could have simply told her and she would immediately understand. She was smart, his Sara. Sometimes maybe even too much for her own good. So why didn't he? Why did he choose the lie instead?

He inwardly sighed. How could he do otherwise, of course? It was as if seeing her oblivious and happy for five more minutes would make all the difference in the world.

_It actually would. For him, it always would._

They still stood close, hands loosely touching the other's sides. For a moment, she seemed to observe him and he observed her, memorizing all of her lovely features before they would ultimately change with the crushing news he was about to deliver.

Whether she picked up on something or not he didn't know, but she did grow more serious and serene all of a sudden. The candlelight was dancing in her eyes and making them darker, liquid chocolate with pieces of hazelnut and caramel in them. He didn't want to watch them glaze over with fright, sorrow or tears. He wanted to preserve their natural beauty; he wanted to capture the intriguing happy gleam they seemed to be emitting today. Especially today.

"We need to talk," they burst out simultaneously, then shared a nervous laugh.

"You first," he offered quickly. He shouldn't. But five more minutes of her sweet oblivion wouldn't hurt them, would they? Whatever her news, he could wait another couple of minutes before he let the bomb drop.

"Okay," she slowly nodded, letting out a nervous chuckle.

He knew he was being a coward. And he didn't particularly care; for she was tugging at his hand now and directing him towards the sofa where she gently pulled him down to sit beside her. And her smile - _God, her smile_ - was killing him from inside out. He felt like curling into a ball and weeping.

She actually looked a bit nervous and uncoordinated herself as she picked up the envelope he'd been eyeing before and handed it to him clumsily.

"I have something for you," she added unnecessarily. "I found out only today myself. And since there are no really appropriate words to say it and because I think that sometimes a picture can speak a thousand words…." Her voice was slightly trembling and for a moment, he'd forgotten all about his tumor, along with the promise he gave himself to tell her the second he got home.

For now, all he was concentrated on was the single thin white envelope he was currently holding in his hands. _What did it hold?_

His fingers glided through the paper, examining the surface as if it held all the answers, although he knew the true and only answer lay inside. Something told him that whatever this was, it was of the utmost importance.

His fingers finally found their way inside the fold. There was a single sheet of paper, a picture, a photo perhaps, only in black and white, so much he could see even from this angle.

The room was dimly lit, but the candles gave enough light for him to see exactly what the picture was the moment he pulled it out and looked at it properly. He recognized what it was instantaneously.

His heart seemed to have stopped, only to restart beating at a far quicker pace.

He was gaping at the incredible picture; a sonogram that coming from Sara could only mean one thing. The excruciating stabbing pain in his chest grew with each new drawn breath, tears springing to his eyes. His thumb came to caress the picture that held so much promise and hope.

_Yet h__e might never meet this creature in person_.

Finally managing to unglue his eyes from the picture, he gazed up at Sara, her face a blur through his tears. He didn't know what to do, what to say. She was waiting for his reaction, patiently but a little nervously, yet he seemed stuck. He gazed back at the picture.

_He would be a father._

For a moment, he let his joy win, let the incredible feeling envelope him.

"I love you _so_ much…so much that you'll never know," he whispered, his voice breaking. Before he knew, he was enveloping her in his arms, squeezing her to him as tightly as he dared.

He could hear her let out a loud breath; then she was crying and laughing into his neck all at the same time, her arms tightly around his neck.

"I love you too," she replied, her voice also an emotional whisper.

He merely clutched her against himself, tears still clouding his vision, but this time, he let them fall. Hopefully, she wouldn't recognize they were both, tears of joy as well as tears of grief.

He could only kiss the top of her crown, stroke her head and back, hold her tight and listen to her content sighs, sobs and laughs, while his heart was breaking into a thousand pieces in his chest, each single one sharp as a knife and painfully digging against his flesh.

"I love you," he repeated, the words tumbling heavily from his mouth, his tongue suddenly too thick for his mouth, his throat swollen as if filled with scratchy wool. "I love you both," he uttered anew, letting his eyes close and his senses envelope the feel of her.

She seemed as reluctant to let him go as he was and that was okay with Michael. He was calculating in his mind. How much time would he need in order to get a glimpse of his child at least just once? Only to see if they took after him or Sara? To make sure mother and baby were healthy and well cared for. How much time would he need for that at least?

His thoughts were interrupted by Sara's next muffled words. "I heard their heartbeat today. Sam made the ultrasound and I could hear the baby's heart."

He didn't know what to say to that, so he merely brought her closer to him, putting more and more kisses into her hair, desperately wanting to make her feel as deeply loved as she was. Because she was, _God, she was._

The sharp splinters in his chest were digging deeper, the pain making it nearly unbearable to keep quiet, but he would, even if it were the last thing he would ever do. He would never spoil a day like this for her, for _them_, for anything. There was no way he would tell her now, he would rather die than tell.

She slowly began to calm a little, yet stayed silently resting in his embrace, her breathing even and composed. They sat like that for a couple more minutes, just stroking one another, an occasional kiss to the neck or face or head or hair, nothing more. It wasn't until a couple of minutes later that she spoke again.

"There was something you wanted to tell me?" she asked, as if only now remembering. She finally untangled herself from his embrace, much to his dismay, and looked at him inquiringly, happy tears still glistering in the corners of her eyes.

He gave her a long look, marveling in her beauty, then shook his head firmly, bringing their foreheads together.

"It's not important." He croaked. "Tell me about the baby."

***ooOoo***

Sara was sitting in her office the next morning, enjoying a short pause between patients while eating her second apple that morning. Still, her stomach was all the while stubbornly grumbling with hunger. She only smiled, her hand coming to rest over the still firm skin of her belly.

"Patience, patience, food's already on its way," she said jokingly, taking another bite while returning to her previous thoughts of yesterday's events.

She was a bit surprised at how emotionally Michael took the news, but she was also very pleased. And very relieved too, if she were being honest with herself. In the course of the whole evening, not a single word was said about any potential fears of the future, monetary issues or job insecurities, and for that she was enormously grateful.

It was all she ever wanted, and yet, something kept nagging at her. Michael had been so attentive and sweet to her, but the drawn look he gave sometimes reminded her more of sadness than joy. She must have imagined it however, for there was no way a man would tell her he loved her, love them _both,_ the way Michael did yesterday and be unhappy about it.

Maybe his mind was already jumping ahead, his thoughts racing to the near as well as distant future, he only didn't want to say anything about it to her just yet.

They talked about her and the baby until late night, Michael asking question of how she found out, how far along she was, how long it would still take for the baby to be born – this one actually made her smile at his impatience – how she was feeling and if the baby was okay too.

She gave him all the answers she was able to provide, yet she warned him she was no specialist and needed to go to see her gynecologist first. She grinned when she pictured the dumbstruck expression the elderly doctor would surely have once she told him she indeed was pregnant and he could go shove his diagnosis elsewhere.

They talked a little bit about the other matters too, about the scarring and the potential risks, but she tried to keep it as light as possible. For now, they agreed to keep it a secret between just the two of them, at least until she was over her first trimester, only to be sure. Even Lincoln and LJ weren't to be told, it felt like they'd jinx the whole thing by telling anybody else.

Michael seemed a little bit reluctant on that point, but she had him agreeing in the end. She guessed it was hard for him to keep secrets from his brother, and although she did understand it to a certain degree, she felt this one was too important to keep quiet about for a bit longer.

She was just about to get up and ask Sam to send the next patient in when her phone rang and it took her a while to locate it in the depths of her purse. She dug it out and quickly glanced at the ID, her forehead puckering slightly when spotting Linc's name on the screen.

"Hey Linc, what's up?" she asked in a kind and welcoming voice.

"Hey Sara, you guys there yet? The traffic is horrible this morning and I might be a little bit late, but I'll be there as soon as possible. Tell Michael I wish him best of luck in case I'm too late and he's already in for the results," he hastened, but finished the last sentence too gently for Lincoln's usual gruff demeanor.

"Uhm…" there was a slight pause in the phone on both ends before Sara was able to reply, confusion clear in her voice. "I'm sorry, but I am afraid I really don't know what you are talking about Lincoln."

There was another uncomfortable pause at the other end of the line before Lincoln silently swore under his breath. "Sara, where are you?" he asked at last, his voice tense and badly concealing his anger, something that skyrocketed Sara's confusion and made her feel a little uneasy.

"Um, work, why? Where are _you_? And more importantly, where's Michael?"

There was another pause on Lincoln's end of line, then he swore again, his words quiet yet distinct nevertheless; "_Son of a bitch…_"

"Linc, you're scaring me. What's going on?" asked Sara, feeling the panic starting to rise in her chest.

There was a loud sigh at the other end and Sara could clearly picture Lincoln run his hand over his scalp in frustration, his nails grazing the closely shorn head. "You're at the clinic, right?" he asked at last.

"Yes!" she retorted a bit exasperatedly. "What's going on?" she repeated with a hint of hysteria.

"Stay there, I'll pick you up in twenty minutes. There is something you need to know."

"Linc…?" her voice was feeble and she sounded scared.

"It's alright, Sara. I'll explain everything. Don't worry, okay? I'll be there in fifteen." His tone was calming and utterly kind. It scared her even more. "Don't worry too much, but take the rest of the day off, okay?" he added.

"Why?" she asked, desperate in her need for answers. She hated cryptic news and half-cut information. It reminded her of a time she didn't want to remember.

"Just do it, will you?" he snapped demandingly, part of his hardly managed calm slipping away. He was clearly on edge too.

A tear slid down her cheek, she didn't even know why. But there was something ominous in what Lincoln was saying to her and it scared her.

"Okay," she uttered quietly.

"Good girl," he sighed in relief at last. "I'll see you soon."

With that he hung up, leaving an utterly shaken Sara helplessly sitting in her infirmary, waiting.

TBC

_A/N: I know it's sad and not at al__l as many of you would have preferred them both to find out, but do you really see Michael telling her after she gave him news like that? Of course not. That's why we love him so much, don't we? More angst/romance/hurt/comfort will ensue, stay tuned. _


	15. Chapter 13 Heart Diagnosis Part 1

**Title:** Sins of our Fathers  
**Characters**: Michael Scofield, Sara Tancredi, Lincoln Burrows, LJ Burrows, Frank Tancredi, Bruce Bennet, OC  
**Pairing**: Michael/Sara  
**Word Count**: approx. 4500 words  
**Rating**: R for some language  
**Chapter**: 16  
**Genre**: Romance, Family, General, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, AU

**Summary:** _A year since Sara's trial for aiding and abbeting, going differently than in canon. Frank Tancredi didn't die at the hands of the company. Although Sara, Michael, Lincoln and LJ have a content and happy life, there is one thing troubling their existence – the broken relationship between a father with his estranged daughter. Will Michael find a way to save what's left of their relationship?_

**AN - **_Thank you Ashley. *hugs* __  
_

**Chapter 13 – Heart Diagnosis (Part 1)**

Michael was once again sitting in the ER, the doctor who'd seen him the day before was currently called away to another case. Five minutes ago a nurse had stopped by, telling him his results were given to a neurosurgeon specialized in brain tumors anyway, he was awaited to come there to collect his diagnose.

'_Diagnose'_, Michael thought darkly. More like a life or death verdict. When his mom was dying, they also called it '_a diagnose_'. Back then it didn't matter to him –a boy of mere seven years - what it was called. He only cared for the outcome. And all he knew for sure was that after his mom was diagnosed, she was taken away and he never saw her again.

He sighed, closing his eyes, with his hands coming to massage his aching temples. He was waiting for Lincoln, they'd agreed to meet here the previous day. He wondered what his brother would say once he saw him alone. Right now however, he didn't care.

Yesterday was the day he received the worst and the best news of his life, all wrapped in one. He would be a father, yet he might not live long enough to see his child being born. The fear rested on him like a bludgeon.

He wished Sara was here with him, his need for her seemed never more acute than now. He wanted her to hug him, whisper in his ear that everything was going to be alright, her gentle fingers intertwines with his in a tight grip like a lifeline.

He wished for it _so_ badly.

But he just couldn't do that to her yesterday, out of all times especially yesterday. She was so happy, so thrilled and joyous, he couldn't ruin such a special day for her, for _them_, with ominous news like that. He didn't have the heart to.

But deep down, he was scared. Because sooner or later, she would find out and he already worried about what the news would do to her, to their unborn child. They'd wished for this miracle for so long, but not like this. He didn't want to leave the woman he loved behind, pregnant without support, help, love or any emotional or financial backup. He didn't want his firstborn to be a posthumous child.

He sighed, trying to chase away the dark thoughts that seemed to be his constant follower for the past couple of months. It was all but a symptom of his illness, the doctor had said. And he was not dead yet. Nor did he know for sure he was actually going to die. There was still so much he could do, so much he could do for his brother and Sara. Especially Sara.

Michael lifted his head, willing the pain that was spreading through his scull into the recesses of his brain, trying to concentrate on the present time instead. His brother was supposed to be here over half an hour ago. He gave his cell phone a look, but there was nothing. He frowned.

His head rose to scan the busy floor, doctors and nurses rushing back and forth between patients and otherwise sick or homeless people, it was all a mess and a blur. He didn't remember a time when his LLI was more challenged than this and he suddenly felt the urge to flee. Suddenly, he could understand Sara's need to escape this frantic pandemonium by taking drugs better than he ever could before. He could never imagine spending more than a few hours at this place, not to mention actually 'treating' these people. Every day, in and out.

The place was a mess, people shouting, children crying, lunatics screaming. A woman at the far end across the hall was vomiting into a basin, a man in his sixties who looked like a very bad and shabby version of Morgan Freeman was shrieking a song at the top of his lungs, a boy of merely ten years crying in his mothers lap, his foot covered with what looked like a kitchen towel soaked with blood.

Michael was momentarily sick. Taking a few steadying breaths, he closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on something else, _anything_ else but this place.

What was it Doctor Brighton always advised him? "_Close your eyes, take a few steadying breaths and try to relax. Imagine a place where you feel comfortable, where you feel safe. Go to that place, imagine it, feel it. Are you there Michael?_"

_The room was dark and quiet, no TV, no music. Fresh air was streaming through a lightly open window, yet it was still warm inside. The air smelled with a woman's perfume, a scent he recognized only too well. He was sitting…no, lying on the couch, his favorite cushion supporting his head. There was a weight pressed against his side, warm and gentle flesh whose female contours he knew by sheer memory. This was his personal haven. Looking down at the woman in his arms, Sara lifted her head, her eyes searching his as she gave him her most radiant smile. _

Michael's eyes snapped open, the intensity of his minds projection hitting him hard. He blinked several times having a hard time remembering where he was. The loud and obnoxious sounds of the busy ER were quickly returning however, crushing his vision as quickly as it came. He sighed.

_Where the hell was Lincoln?_

As if on call, the bulky frame of his brother walked in the door. What made Michael's world spin however, was the fact that his brother was not alone. At his side walked Sara, her thin frame hugged in her familiar coat that all of a sudden seemed two sizes big for her slouched body. Another blink of his eyes and Michael's worst fears were confirmed. _She knew_. His stomach dropped while his body shivered in a sudden hit of coldness.

Her eyes were cast down, her movements mechanically following Lincoln's back through the mayhem of people. Her eyes were puffy, red-rimmed, cheeks and nose flushed. _She's been crying._ He nearly slid down the uncomfortable plastic chair he was sitting in, his muscles turning to jelly.

_She was pregnant and now she knew and there was no way he could protect her from this any longer._

Their eyes finally met over the crowd of people and the world seemed to stop, the voices and shouts blocked out by his other senses now attuned solely on Sara. Her eyes were glassy, filled with sadness and compassion that went beyond words. She looked each one of her thirty years, her usually energetic stride replaced by a tired trail.

_She hurt and he had once again brought it upon her_.

~~~ooOoo~~~

Once her eyes fixed upon him, she didn't let her gaze fall. Even through her numbness, she registered the shock in his eyes, the fear, _the guilt_. She wouldn't have any of it. She loved him and they were stronger than that.

When they finally reached him – the busy ER seeming more like a battlefield so early in the day – she didn't give him a chance to speak. She crouched in front of him with her hands coming to rest upon his knees and for the lack of appropriate words; she let her eyes do the talking instead. They gazed at each other for less than a few seconds, then something in Michael's expression broke and he suddenly looked like a scared little boy. Immediately, her hands went up encircling him, bringing him closer into a tight hug. She clung to him, though surprisingly, her embrace rather offered than seeked comfort.

"I should have told you…" he croaked, unable to stop the words tumbling from his lips. She merely hushed him, pressing his face protectively into the crook of her neck. He obliged willingly. There was suddenly moisture in his eyes when he remembered the exact reason why he hadn't.

"But I couldn't…" he gulped, "…I couldn't destroy that moment for you…I simply couldn't…"

She hushed him again, uttering the quietest '_I know_' into the hollow of his ear.

"I know," she repeated, this time more strongly, her hand coming to caress his scalp in an affectionate and protective gesture.

She didn't reprimand him, didn't scold him, didn't as much as give him one wrongful glance. She simply _understood_ and that was nearly his undoing.

He grasped at her coat desperately, clinging to her for a long moment, wanting to get lost in her warm embrace. Finally, he forced himself to entangle from her, his mind remembering that this was not just about him. It was about _them_.

He straightened in his chair, holding her still crouched form at an arms length, then he scooped her up and guided her to sit down in the spare chair beside him.

"You okay?" he asked. There were so many undertones to that question, so many layers she couldn't even start to comprehend them all. He only hoped she encrypted his question.

She contemplated him for a second, then merely nodded, the beaten look in her eyes telling him she was lying for the sake of pretences. He knew she needed to keep it together, as much as he would prefer her to give her emotions a free pass. But she wouldn't, he knew, and he wouldn't force her.

Instead, he turned to his brother, giving him a small nod, surprised when Lincoln's eyes evaded his and ended on the floor.

He let go of Sara for a short moment, rising to his feet and surprising Lincoln by closing him into his arms. "It's okay," he said, "thank you for bringing her."

He let his brother go, a question popping inside his head. Looking at Sara and back at Lincoln, he uttered quietly. "Do you know why I…" he trailed off when Lincoln nodded, his eyes coming to rest on Sara.

"She told me on the way here. Congratulations, I guess," Lincoln said, the tiniest hint of a saddened smile coming to dance on his lips.

"Thanks," replied Michael quietly, surprised when he noticed a small genuine smile graced his lips. The brothers were grinning at one another for a short moment, ones expression momentarily amused, the others oddly flustered.

"Did you get the results yet?" The question made them both turn their heads, Sara's voice bringing them back to reality with sickening speed.

Michael sighed tiredly then shook his head, the undefinable look in Sara's eyes crushing his chest.

"A nurse stopped by a couple of minutes ago, saying that my results were sent to a neurosurgeon on the third floor for an evaluation. I was waiting for Lincoln to come so we could both head up there," the mention of his brother's involvement and her omission left again a bitter trace of guilt in his mouth. She didn't comment on that part of the statement however, merely nodded and got up from her chair.

"Well, let's go then." The three of them started to walk towards the elevators when Michael felt something warm and soft take his hand, Sara's perfect fingers curling themselves around his own, the tight squeeze of her touch knocking the air out of his lungs.

He was not alone in this. And for the love of God and those around him, he couldn't bring himself to wish he was.

~~~ooOoo~~~

They've been sitting in the waiting lounge on the third floor for nearly two hours now but still there was no word from the doctor who was supposed to be evaluating Michael's results. After a short discussion, they – Lincoln and Sara, that is - agreed it would be most prudent if Michael weren't to see the surgeon alone but had one of them for company. The two of them looked at each other for hardly a second before the decision was made. Michael didn't know whether to be glad or terrified.

To an outsider, they might have looked like ordinary people, waiting for an ordinary examination. Lincoln was quietly sitting a few seats away, squeezing an empty coffee cup in his hands, reviewing it thoroughly as if trying to read a message from the droplets of coffee and sediment at the very bottom.

Michael and Sara were nearby, sitting sideways on two seats that had their backs turned to each other, occasionally whispering something, their hands coming to touch one another from time to time. Sara looked composed, tranquil even, incarnated calm. On the inside, her mind was screaming with fear and agony. She couldn't loose him. Not now, not like this, not _at all_.

Michael, on the other hand, was outwardly showing his nervousness. He often shifted in his seat sighing impatiently, his foot stomping nervously while his hands occasionally played with Sara's fingers and hair. He couldn't stop touching her, his movements growing more frequent with the passing moment. He saw the brave smile she tried to put on for his sake, noticed the small twitch in the corner of her mouth signaling she was close to breaking down, but she never so much as gave a sigh. Occasionally, she would tell him he was going to be alright, that they only needed to know what they were dealing with. More than by her words however, he let himself be reassured by her touch.

After three and a half hours of them sitting in the same spot, the nurse finally came out of the doctor's office to inform them that Doctor Hawkins would see Mr. Scofield shortly and asked them for a little more patience.

That was thirty minutes ago. Michael and Lincoln were still sitting in the exact same spots. Sara, who had excused herself for a bathroom break and had returned ten minutes ago, was now leaning against the window pane in the quiet lounge, silently observing the tiny silhouettes of cars and people walking in and out of the hospital's main entrance below.

She never returned to her spot near Michael and he knew she wouldn't have done so if she weren't in desperate need of space, so he let her have it. For exactly ten minutes. Then he rose from his seat and exchanged a tired look of understanding with his brother before walking the short distance to the window, his hand tentatively coming to rest against the small of Sara's back.

She didn't jump at his touch which meant she was well aware of his presence, but she still didn't shift her gaze, her eyes unfocused and empty, her features stern as if cut from white marble.

Instead of asking the obvious and stupid question if '_She were okay_', Michael instead sneaked both of his hands around her from behind, his head coming to rest against her shoulder, rocking them gently back and forth when his gaze finally joined hers in pursuing the tiny people below.

"What are you thinking?" he asked at last, his voice a velvet lace against her ear.

Their eyes were still watching the various people down on the street, a child playing with a ball, an outdoor vendor selling coffee and doughnuts to hungry patients and hospital staff.

Without ungluing her gaze, she finally started to talk, her voice soft.

"Actually, I am thinking about returning my medical license." The meaning of her words hit him hard, but even worse was the tone in which she said it. It was something between carelessness and iciness.

"Why?" he asked with shock, his eyes finally ungluing from the view below to look directly at her. She was still looking out, though her gaze wasn't focused anymore. A bitter self-depreciating sneer ruined her lovely features.

"What kind of a doctor am I, Michael? I don't as much as recognize being nine weeks pregnant and mistake very serious neurological symptoms of a man I live with…," she stopped, the coldhearted scoff she gave at herself ripping at Michael's insides, "the man I claim to _love_, for clinical depression? What kind of a physician does that make me Michael? No wonder the only place to hire me was a maximum security penitentiary, I mean, who gives a crap about those people, right?" she spat the words coldly, the self-loathing and disgust dripping from each of her words making Michael want to crawl out of his skin.

"That's not true and you know it," he uttered quietly, his hands drawing her closer. "We were told we'd _never_ have a child of our own, so why would you even suspect? About me…" he stopped and gave a little tired sigh, "well, I wasn't exactly honest with you about myself. I didn't tell you about mom, for starters. And I didn't tell you about the nosebleeds. So what were the odds of you deducing something as specific as this?"

Her eyes still didn't refocus nor move from staring into the space in front of her. "I share your _bed_, Michael," she said after a moment of silence, her words hitting him like a slap, "I _should_ have known." There was a deadly finality to her words, a coldness radiating from her like he had never felt before. She untangled from his embrace, making her way back to the seats.

His arms fell to his sides and he tiredly rested his forehead against to cooling window glass. He needed to fix this, if he only knew how. She wasn't to torture herself for this on top of everything else. Especially when she was the absolute last person responsible for what was happening.

"Mr. Scofield?"

He didn't reply. "Mr. Scofield!" the nurse called again. But it was only Sara's voice calling him by his name that brought him from his reverie. Turning, he saw an expectant nurse waiting with the door open for him, Sara and Lincoln's look both on him, hope and fear etched on their faces as much as his own.

"Michael, the doctor will see you now." Holding out her hand for him, Michael took it silently as they walked into the office together.

~~~ooOoo~~~

Doctor Hawkins was a nice, professionally looking man in his forties whose office was wallpapered from top to bottom with various diplomas, certificates and educational degrees.

He was very measured but kind enough to deliver his words with a fine care and professional gentleness.

First five minutes, he talked about the cat scans and MRI, about what they showed, patiently showing Michael and Sara the pictures depicting the growing mass in Michael's brain, trying to simplify the medical jargon for Michael to understand everything being said, never minding to return and repeat a problem if he was under the impression the patient misunderstood or didn't fully comprehend.

All in all, Doctor Hawkins was an outstanding and caring doctor. It however didn't change the fact that his news was anything but crushing for the young couple sitting in front of him.

_Yes, the tumor was there, in an utmost inconvenient place of the brain. And yes, it was malign, so if left untreated, it would without a doubt result in a shortly death of the patient._

The woman, an emergency medicine doctor by the name of Sara, occasionally asked questions, returning to matters and discussing the condition, symptoms and possible treatments. The man kept quiet most of the time, although unlike other patients Doctor Hawkins had seen before, he didn't seem to be petrified by the news of his possible impending death. He just looked deep in thought, as if his brain was processing too much information all at once. He didn't appear fazed out at all; actually, he looked as if he sucked in all the information provided but was deliberately withdrawn from the conversation in favor of his companion. While they talked, Doctor Hawkins saw the occasional terrified flicker in the woman's eyes as she gazed shortly at the quiet man beside her. He could also see the obvious affection and sadness in the man's eyes when he looked at the woman in turn, a woman currently fiercely fighting and trying to find a solution for the man she obviously loved beyond everything. Under the table, Doctor Hawkins was sure the couple was tightly holding hands.

"So what are my options?" said the man at last, the calmness of his voice impressing Doctor Hawkins greatly. The woman was silent, as if by mutual agreement they'd decided to let the man take the lead from now on.

"Well, there are three options," Hawkins said, the number he stated making him squirm in his seat uncomfortably. "First, you go untreated, no medication, no radiation, no chemo, you get to spend the rest of your time as comfortably as possible." He hated to state this option, because he knew the indignation that nearly always followed after he proposed it. The patients and the relatives would get angry and insulted, only later would they discover the option might in fact, be the best in the end. However, the couple stayed quiet, waiting patiently.

"Second, you get treatment, take chemo, radiation…the whole package. You will get to spend most of your remaining time in the hospital or at home being sick, but it might prolong your life expectancy a great deal."

"And the third?" the man asked, his piercing blue eyes nearly challenging Hawkins with their look. He gulped, knowing this was going to be the most difficult part.

"There is the possibility of an operation. However, it includes many risks, you could die right on the table. There are also risks of permanent brain damage, partial damage to some functions of your brain that influence important abilities, for example speech, motion or memory. And even once you survive the operation, there is a recurrence rate of about thirteen percent. You would of course have to undergo all the additional treatments we just spoke about, chemo, radiation and such."

The couple was quiet for a moment, obviously considering the options. Hawkins was glad, at least they seemed like they knew the graveness of the situation and wouldn't decide rashly.

"How much time do I have left if I went untreated and how much with the treatment?" asked the man quietly, stealing a worried glance at the woman sitting next to him.

"3-5 months without treatment, 7-11 with." The news was a hard one to chew, Hawkins knew, but he wasn't one to beat around the bush.

A small painful gasp escaped the woman's lips, the man once again glancing worriedly at her. They exchanged a look that Hawkins felt was nearly too intimate to watch, then they turned their heads in unison towards him.

"How about the operation?" the man finally asked. Hawkins wished he hadn't. He's worked this job for nearly two decades, but what he was to impart was still the most unfair and excruciating part of the job he could deliver. He took a deep breath, then gave a small cough.

"The operation could indeed help you, the scans show the mass hasn't meddled into some regions of the brain that would make it impossible to operate on and there seems to be a fair chance of getting it all out without the necessity of leaving permanent damage-"

"But?" the man interjected, a tiny cold grin appearing on his face. He seemed to be one step ahead, something Hawkins hasn't experienced in this office all that often. He decided to cut it clean.

"The problem is Michael," he addressed the young man in front of him directly, "you don't have proper insurance. You have no idea how sorry I am anytime I have to tell this to patients, but this kind of risky operation gets covered only by the best insurance policies. From your paperwork however, I can see that at the moment, you don't have any insurance whatsoever. The hospital cannot take on such an expensive procedure without coverage. I am really sorry." And he was, God, he really was. He never went to study medicine in one of the best economies in the world only to tell people he wouldn't be able to help them because they couldn't afford it.

"How much?" the man asked, stealing another glance at the woman, his forehead creasing with worry. Hawkins looked at her as well, she indeed didn't look fine. Her face was ashen, her bottom lip trembling.

His previous question momentarily forgotten, the man turned to his partner, his hand coming to rest on her shoulder. "Sara, are you alright?" he asked gently in a deep voice.

Hawkins was worried too; he surely didn't need a fainting woman in his office. "Maybe I should-" he was just about to call his nurse and ask her to bring in some water, when the woman's refocused and with a far more determined and steady voice than Hawkins would ever expect asked the same question as her boyfriend.

"How much money?"

"I am estimating around hundred and forty thousand dollars, for the operation plus including the additional treatment," he said steadily, watching the woman's face fall. It was moments like these when he hated his job the most.

The woman fell silent after that. Despite her clenched jaw, her eyes glistered with unshed tears. The man's hand came to rest upon her tight, his fingers trying to draw soothing patterns over her clad skin while he quietly spoke to the doctor in front of him.

"So you are practically saying I can choose between merely 3 to 5 months of living, or a 7 to 11 month struggle running between home and hospital while puking my guts out, because an operation is simply too much to pay for this country to save a citizen's life." The man didn't say it angrily nor bitterly, it was a mere statement. And yet, there was something chilly about the way he spoke, it was as if the man's already been in a similar situation before. A chill ran down Hawkins's spine all of a sudden.

"I'm sorry," he said, his words sounding more inadequate than ever.

"It's alright doctor, it's not your fault," the young man said, tiredness entering his voice all of a sudden. "Thank you for your time. We will think about the options and let the hospital know what we've decided," he said politely, stretching out his hand for Hawkins to shake.

Then he turned towards the woman still sitting in the chair, her face white as a sheet, her eyes unfocused.

"Sara?" he called gently, bending forwards to enter her line of vision. The care and worry in his voice moved even Hawkins. Dying people rarely offered comfort to their loved ones.

"Sara, we gotta go," the young man called again in the same careful tone, his hands brushing her shoulders softly. She finally seemed to refocus her gaze. Taking his offered hand, she walked out of the office without a word. All the while, the man's hand supported her back.

TBC

_A/N – Don't kill me please…*ducks* Although...more reviews MAAAAY make me more kinder in my writing...;)  
_


	16. Chapter 13 Heart Diagnosis Part 2

**Title:** Sins of our Fathers  
**Characters**: Michael Scofield, Sara Tancredi, Lincoln Burrows, LJ Burrows, Frank Tancredi, Bruce Bennet, OC  
**Pairing**: Michael/Sara  
**Word Count**: approx. 4000 words  
**Rating**: R for some language  
**Chapter**: 17  
**Genre**: Romance, Family, General, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, AU

**Summary:** _A year since Sara's trial for aiding and abbeting, going differently than in canon. Frank Tancredi didn't die at the hands of the company. Although Sara, Michael, Lincoln and LJ have a content and happy life, there is one thing troubling their existence – the broken relationship between a father with his estranged daughter. Will Michael find a way to save what's left of their relationship?_

**A/N: **I am so dang sorry for the long delay guys, but well, you know me..I take my time..a LOT of my time..lol, but in the end, I DO deliver, don't I?;)

**Ashley: **I love you girl. I am so so so sorry I was so pathetic as to not being able to reply to your mails just yet, but I really AM thinking about you a lot and I plan on answering them, I swear! Thank you for your awesome work on my stories, you make them really grow and shape into what they are. Thank you dearest.

**Chapter 13 – Heart Diagnosis (Part 2)**

The drive home from the hospital was a silent one. They drove in Lincoln's car, since Michael and Sara's car was left at the clinic in the morning when Linc unexpectedly picked her up. The atmosphere in the car was heavy and grave, all necessities already being said at the hospital.

Lincoln was squeezing the wheel between his fingers, momentarily willing the plastic piece to snap underneath his fingers. _His baby brother didn't deserve this. _

The car finally came to a stop in front of Michael and Sara's apartment building and Lincoln killed the engine. Nobody moved, they all sat tight in their places. The silence was stretching in the car like a plague before the sound of two large fists hitting the wheel over and over pierced the tentative quiet, making both, Michael and Sara jump.

Lincoln was cursing loudly, the force of his hits as well as the amount of anger he was emitting reason enough to scare away any person who would dare to walk by the car at that moment.

"Not even my whole fucking house is worth that kind of money!" snapped Lincoln with vicious force, hitting the wheel one more time for good measure. "I cannot believe this whole arrangement we have goes down the drain just because of fucking _money_!" He was breathing hard, trying to get his nerves under control again. His eyes wondered to the rearview mirror. Spotting Sara's pallor and the unusual stiffness of her frame told him she was on the verge of a complete breakdown. For a moment, he forced himself to forget his own despair.

"You okay?" he asked a bit more calmly, his eyes searching hers in the mirror. She finally looked up, their gazes meeting on the catoptric surface. Michael's head quickly snapped back at his brother's words, his body turning in the co-drivers seat to properly look at her too.

"_Me_?" she asked slowly, disbelief etched across her face.

Anyone else looking at her would understand Lincoln's concern completely. The paleness and hollowness in her eyes were reason enough for anybody to worry. From her point of view however, the question seemed almost mocking.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she said, quickly masking the emptiness she felt inside her with a façade of bravado despite knowing she had little chance of fooling the two men currently scrutinizing her with their looks.

"You wanna come up for a cup of coffee?" she asked Lincoln matter-of-factly, as if this were a normal day and she would ask a friend over to continue a conversation they didn't have the time to finish over dinner.

Lincoln shot a quick glance at his brother, the silent communication between them taking less than a couple of seconds before he directed his gaze back at her. "No, I am good." He turned back to his brother. "I will call you tomorrow, let me know what you've decided," he said, a pained edge to his voice now.

Michael nodded slowly, then finally opened the car and got up, Sara following shortly after. They made their way to the apartment, all the while keeping quiet, Michael's hand protectively resting on the small of Sara's back the whole time. She didn't acknowledge him, she looked like a sleepwalker. He was really starting to become concerned.

Slowly and in complete silence they went through the apartment, mechanically accomplishing everything one might do once arriving home after a long and stressful day. They hung their coats, changed clothes and washed their hands. Sara brushed away her hair back into a ponytail while Michael went into the kitchen to put on some coffee. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Except maybe, that a mere day ago, they didn't know one of them was dying. And it made the whole difference in the world.

She was again gazing out the window, lost in her thoughts when Michael's head popped into the doorway. "Hey, it's already late, you want me to fix us a late lunch?" he asked carefully, his voice filled with so much care that Sara felt her lungs constrict, making her struggle for air.

"Yeah, that would be nice," she managed to answer him, finally ungluing her eyes from the glass to look at him. "I'll be right there." He gave a small nod before disappearing into the hallway.

Twenty minutes later, they were sitting at the kitchen table, dining in silence. The only thing Michael was able to find in the house to fix for dinner were peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, reminding him they really needed to do some serious groceries shopping. The moment the thought hit him, it sounded all kinds of absurd. _Groceries shopping? Who cared about that at a time like this?_ Still, life went on and they needed to eat. _Sara was eating for two now._

"How are you feeling today?" Michael asked her, his blue eyes coming to rest on hers. "Any nausea?"

The question nearly made her gag. _He was seriously asking about _her_ well being, when he was the one who'd recieved a terminal diagnosis that very morning?_ If possible, she felt her heart breaking all over again. How could she possible survive without him?

"I was a little bit sick in the morning, but nothing out of the ordinary." _Better keep the conversation as light and neutral as possible._

"Good," Michael gave a relieved sigh and the inadequacy of that gesture made Sara's stomach flip.

"So…" Michael started and she knew there was no escape of the conversation anymore. She gulped down the last of her sandwich, glad the meal was over. She only hoped she would be strong enough to keep the food down.

"There is really no use in beating around the bush Sara," he started gently, his eyes momentarily sliding over the fresh coffee stain upon the tablecloth before rising again to meet her straightforward. "There are two options, and I would like to hear your opinion on both," he said, giving her a look that was already apologizing for having to put her through this in the first place. She just nodded. "But personally," he continued, willing to say what needed to be said in order to be done with this once and for all, "I am inclined to do the treatment. I know the risks and problems it might cause us, the _both_ of us," be put an emphasizes on his last words, regret clear in his voice before he uttered in the most quiet voice, "But I really want the chance to see my child being born."

His words combined with the glassy look of pure desolation carved into his handsome features were the very first sight he was _not_ okay and in fact, the furthest thing from accepting their situation. The fact that he was showing her this openly, instead of hiding it for himself, was just adding insult to the injury and it nearly tore her heart apart. If she didn't feel dead on the inside already, she might have started weeping at this point.

"I agree."

Two words pronounced coldly, emotionlessly even to her own ears, was all she could deliver to the man she claimed to love. There was so much more she wanted to say but was afraid that once she started, there would be no end to the unleashed pain and agony for both of them.

Even worse, he seemed to understand completely. He simply nodded, uttering a quiet, '_That's settled then_', before he rose from his chair, taking the dirty dishes with him to clean them in the sink. She couldn't believe the world wanted to take this perfect person away from her, the only man in the world who ever seemed to understand her in all ways humanly possible. She wouldn't let them, _couldn't_ let them. _But what was there she could do?_

She watched him silently, the muscles of his lean back dancing under the simple grey shirt as he worked, his long fingers putting aside the wet dishes for drying.

She felt a sudden possessive urge to feel him, to stop the pretense of normalcy when they both were aching inside, shaking with the fear of the short time they were given. It seemed so utterly meaningless to spend the time with mundane tasks such as washing the dishes for the sake of pretences. It was a waste she wasn't willing to take.

She stood up silently, making her way towards the sink, coming to stand right behind him. Her hands slipped around his waist as she pressed her body tightly against his back. She felt him still when her face came to bury itself in the crook of his neck. She inhaled deeply. _She loved him, God, she loved him as she never loved anyone else._

His body was completely motionless now; the only sound in the room coming from the running water hitting the bottom of the sink. Her hand came forward to turn the faucet off before returning to its original place resting over his heart.

"Come to bed with me," she pleaded in a shaky voice and for the very first time that day, a trace of utmost vulnerability was audible in her tone. He turned in her embrace, his eyes locking with hers. There were silent tears, turning the blue of his orbs into two pools of compassion, fear, affection and regret.

He wrapped his hands around her, bringing her close, his face buried in the crook of her neck.

"I love you Sara. _So _much." His voice was breaking.

"I love you too," the hitch in her voice was followed by a loud sob.

~~~ooOoo~~~

It was much later, the afternoon starting to meet an early evening, when Sara woke up with a start. She gazed at her side. Michael's arm was still tightly wrapped around her middle, while he slept soundly.

He was exhausted earlier, she could tell, emotionally as well as physically. She has never seen him fall asleep that quickly after making love. Usually, it was her who'd beat him to it, Michael always joking about being the creepy one watching her sleep.

Fresh tears welled in her eyes when she imagined she was to wake up alone in a matter of a few months.

She shook her head, forcing the thought aside hastily. She wouldn't allow it. Not when there was still one thing she could try. She would be damned if she wouldn't.

Quietly crawling out of bed, she quickly redressed, careful not to rouse Michael from his sleep. Scribbling a hasty note of '_Be back soon, love you_', she soundly collected her sweater, purse and car keys and silently let herself out of their apartment. She would have enough time to think about what she would tell her father once she arrived at the mansion on her long drive to Springfield.

~~~ooOoo~~~

It was early evening when Frank Tancredi's housekeeper Phillis knocked on his office door, quietly informing him that Miss Tancredi was there to see him. To say Frank was astonished would be the understatement of the year.

He had tried to call her over the past couple of months, all in vain; she blocked his each and every attempt to contact her whatsoever. And now she was suddenly standing outside his door, wanting to see him? _This better be good_.

He told the housekeeper to let his daughter in, his face fixed upon the paper in front of him all the while pretending to be finishing an important document as he heard her enter the study. Frank prepared his most casual tone, his jaw tightly set, careless coldness ready to enter his voice. He wasn't one to play the needy one, although he did feel more than a little nervous on the inside. He hasn't seen nor heard from his little girl in months. And he missed her immensely, despite Sara probably believing he didn't really care.

"Sara, to what do I owe the pleasure-" he stopped in midsentence, his eyes growing wide when he spotted the tortured, tear stricken face of his daughter, standing in the doorway like a small lost child, only a light sweater covering her shaking frame despite the freezing cold outside.

_What did that bastard of a criminal do to her? Was she using again?_

"Michael is dying," she said without preamble. "And I need your help."

There was a deadly silence in the room after her proclamation, father and daughter looking at each other in shock. Then Sara's legs finally lost their ground and she broke into a sobbing heap right into the next comfortable chair facing her father's desk. Her arms shot to cover her face, the sobs so heavy she had a hard time taking gulps of breath. She was a mess.

It took Frank over a whole minute to finally recover from his initial shock before he rose from his chair and circled the table. He lightly grasped his daughter's shoulders in what he hoped would be a soothing gesture, then he called for Phillis and asked her to bring his daughter a cup a strong black tea and some tissues.

Sara was literally wailing in her seat for the whole of ten minutes until she was able to calm enough to wipe her face and blow her nose with the tissues Phillis quietly brought minutes earlier. When she seemed coherent enough, Frank returned to his original place behind his desk, giving his daughter a worried look.

"Tell me what happened," he said uncharacteristically gently as he watched his daughter take a hasty gulp of the tea. Only then did she finally raise her eyes to him, the chocolate brown he knew so well nearly black with sorrow in the darkened room.

Slowly, word after word, Sara told him. She'd calmed enough by then and was able to reproduce most of the happenings on the day in a nearly clinical way. All the time, she didn't look directly at her father, training her eyes on the half-empty china cup instead.

"You know I don't have that kind of money. Nor does Lincoln. But you could help. And I am far beyond ready to beg you if that is what's needed, willing to do absolutely _anything_ for you if you help Michael." She raised her eyes, the sudden resolution in them surprising Frank.

"Will you, dad?" a sudden vulnerability and fear entered her voice, her eyes glassing over once again.

Frank leaned his back against the comfortable armrest of his leather armchair, still stunned and slightly dizzy from all the information he just received. Sara never broke their eye contact now and they sat there in silence for a long moment, their eyes meeting almost challengingly.

A tiny buzzing sound interrupted their quiet match and Sara broke her stare, her hand traveling to the inside of her jeans to extract the vibrating phone. She looked at the text message, her heart fluttering in her chest.

_Sara, please don't. If it's not already too late, come home to me. Please. Love U. M_

She gulped the sudden lump in her throat, returning the phone to her pocket without another glance. It _was_ already too late. And if she got the choice, she would do it again, God knew the man waiting for her at home was worth it.

"Will you help me save Michael's life?" she asked with a quivering voice again, her eyes returning to gaze at her father.

Frank's look wandered in the direction where Sara's phone had just disappeared.

"Did _he_ send you?"

Sara's mouth dropped open in shock. _Was he being serious?_

"God, you're unbelievable dad!" she couldn't help but spat back at him, "No, Michael _didn't_ send me! In fact, if he knew, he would ask me not to….I cannot…." She stuttered, her auburn locks wildly dancing around her in an attempt to clear her head by shaking it. She stilled, falling silent. Her head stayed low, eyes fixated on her hands twisting together in her lap.

"Please dad…" she pleaded quietly, her whole demeanor changing, posture crumbling. "I know you don't like him, but he is the best thing that's ever happened to me. I love him so much that I honestly cannot imagine my life without him. I know the choices I've made considering my love life were always poor ones, and I know you had put up with a lot of my shit over the years, but this is _not_ one of those bad choices. Michael is in fact the best man I know, the most kind, loving, intuitive and brilliant person I've ever met. So dad, please, don't let fate take him away from me when there is still hope and you have the key," tears were once again streaming down her face. Still she didn't raise her head, her hair partially covering her face. "I _swear_ I will never ask for anything else in my life from you, but I beg you, father, help the man I love." She finished, her head bowed, one silently crying broken heap of sorrow that once used to be Frank's vibrant daughter.

Another couple of moments passed in silence, Sara still weeping, Frank contemplating his next words.

"The operation…" he started, surprised when Sara's head snapped up, her eyes filling with a flicker of hope and unmasked shock. Frank would be lying if he said he wasn't hurt by her surprise. "You said there were a lot of risks involved," he continued and watched in slow motion the look in Sara's eyes change.

"I am only worried…" he continued hastily, his hands flying into the air in a frustrated gesture. "My God Sara," he sighed, giving his child a pained look, "he could be left mentally retarded or God knows what else, have you thought about _that_?" he finally asked in a rush of breath, no longer able to keep a neutral expression on his face.

The look in Sara's eyes hardened, her beautiful features contorting into a nasty grimace of anger and disgust. "What are you implying?" she hissed. "Of course I am well aware of the risks involved. Jesus, you think this is easy for me? Knowing that by asking you to help him, I might be sentencing him to suffer permanent brain damage or death from the operation?" Her eyes were blazing. "But I cannot sit by and do _nothing,_ watching the man I love surrendering to a slow and painful death right in front of my eyes. Not if there is an alternative, no matter how risky. It's also the only hope to keep him _alive_. And right now dad, I don't care in what shape or form he comes once after, as long as I get to keep him." She spoke her words fiercely, evidence enough to Frank she wasn't thinking completely rationally and straight at the moment.

"And if he stays a vegetable? What will you do _then_, Sara?" he asked, the fierceness of his voice matching hers. "Are you going the waste the rest of your life caring for a drooling empty shell of a man you once loved? Have you thought about that?"

The look of complete incredulity and loathing on her face brought Frank back to a softer approach. "I'm only trying to explain all the possible scenarios, sweetheart, the good as well as the bad ones. Are you prepared for the possibility that all your hopes and investments in this cause might go up into smoke like that, leaving you with a barely alive zombie you will try to care for the rest of your life? Because I think that's exactly what you would do to yourself in the event the operation goes bad. And I would be damned if I wished a future like that for my daughter."

The horrified look on Sara's face didn't change, merely grew, the shock at her father's words momentarily rendering her speechless.

"I am only trying to explain that if things go bad, you will probably be faced with another choice and I am not sure you would be able to pick the best option when you'll feel guilty in the first place over what happ-"

"_Stop_," she suddenly commanded, her hand shooting upwards in a halting gesture. Her whole body was shaking.

"I just…"

"_STOP!_" she shouted this time. She rose to her feet, her breathing elaborate. She actually swooned in her place as she stood over him, her distressed state silencing Frank immediately.

"You just needed to say _No,_ dad. Torturing me with your words sugarcoated as worry only adds insult to the injury and despite your sick need to cause me more pain…"

"No, you don't unders—" tried Frank desperately, but she cut him off.

"Oh trust me, I _DO_ understand, it's _you_ who doesn't! Because I swear on my mother's grave, if Michael's dies," she barely got the words out, the lump in her throat gagging her, "you'll never get as much as a glimpse of your grandchild!"

The shock on Franks face was one that clearly stated that a lesser man would suffer a heart attack by now. "You're…." he choked out.

"Yes. Congratulations dad, you're going to be a grandpa," spat Sara coldly before adding in a deadly voice, "and I will make sure you never, _ever,_ get to hold or even see this child the same way his father probably never will because of your narrowness!"

With that, she stormed out of his study, leaving her shocked father close to a stroke. After a long while, a single tear run down Frank's cheek. Things just seemed to be going from bad to worse.

~~~ooOoo~~~

Much later that night, Sara finally opened the front door to their apartment. She was disheveled, tired and beaten down. She'd lost her last option to save Michael, in fact, she _blew _it - let her feelings get the better of her despite knowing her father only ever responded to coldhearted expediency. She would have promised him anything or sold her soul, but once he started cutting deep into her soul with his hurtful words, she couldn't hold her feelings at bay any longer, couldn't ignore his heartless implying. And that just might have cost Michael his life. She felt like she failed him in the most treacherous way possible.

She had no tears or strength left in her, she only wanted to crawl into her bed and die right on the spot. After a few still moments in the dark, a figure she recognized all to well approached her. He didn't say a word, merely enveloped her in his arms. She melted against him, wishing she could dissolve and disappear in his warmth, the searing pain gone along with her life once and for all.

TBC

_A/N: A bit heavy and rather sad, I know people. But really, you think Frank would simply say: "Sure thing, sweetheart, just let me grab my checkbook, will ya?" Unfortunately, things are always more complicated than that. :-( _

_On another note – I wish you all a most happy Merry Christmas and wonderful feast days!_


	17. Chapter 14 Brother's Keeper Part 1

**Title:** Sins of our Fathers  
**Characters**: Michael Scofield, Sara Tancredi, Lincoln Burrows, LJ Burrows, Frank Tancredi, Bruce Bennet, OC  
**Pairing**: Michael/Sara  
**Word Count**: approx. 2600 words  
**Rating**: R for some language  
**Chapter**: 17  
**Genre**: Romance, Family, General, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, AU

**Summary:** _A year since Sara's trial for aiding and abbeting, going differently than in canon. Frank Tancredi didn't die at the hands of the company. Although Sara, Michael, Lincoln and LJ have a content and happy life, there is one thing troubling their existence – the broken relationship between a father with his estranged daughter. Will Michael find a way to save what's left of their relationship?_

**A/N: **_**This chapter is dedicated to the amazing fic author **__**VaughnsRobe**__**, whose own stories (especially one gorgeous WIP *wink*) keeps me inspired to write my own stories. Thank you!**_

**Chapter 14 (Part 1) – Brother's keeper **

It was still really early in the morning when Michael was awoken from his sleep by strange sounds coming from somewhere within the apartment. His eyes snapped open, the red light on the alarm clock showing it was shortly after 6 am. Instinctively reaching next to him, his arm was met by still warm yet empty sheets. Listening closely, he could identify the sounds coming from the bathroom, the retching telling him Sara was clearly sick.

Groggily, Michael sat up on the bed before he made his way towards the bathroom. By the time he reached the room, Sara was already flushing the toilet and when he finally pushed the door open, she was half-way through brushing her teeth.

He stood in the doorway for a moment, silently observing her, contemplating what to do next. After another moment, Sara's eyes wandered up and upon meeting his in the mirror, she jumped a little, startled by his presence.

"Sorry," Michael quickly said, finally closing the space between them, his hands coming to cup her shoulders. "Didn't mean to scare you." She merely shook her head. Finished with her teeth, she put away her toothbrush and wiped her mouth in her favorite terry towel.

It were strange, these tiny, casual things that were able to give her so much comfort. She met his eyes again in the mirror. "It's okay."

"Are you sick?"

She just shrugged indifferently, and the simple careless gesture sent a huge stab of pain through Michael's chest. He knew that if not for him and his condition – this _sentence_ – that was still invisibly hanging over their heads, she might of have smiled, her shrug playful and happy, with an expression saying: "_Hey, what can you do, morning sickness is part of the deal, right?_" Now however, it seemed she merely viewed this as another inconvenience to their lives.

"Sorry, did I wake you?" she asked, turning to face him. Her eyes were clouded, guarded. It broke his heart to see the shield rise between them.

He shook his head.

"Liar," she accused, but a small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth nevertheless. It sent a wave of relief through him and he returned the grin tenfold.

He crossed the space between them, enveloping her into his arms. She sunk against him, her arms coming to squeeze the back of his shirt. The moment was a heavy one. If felt like they were constantly saying goodbye to each other.

The thought sent Michael reeling. If this is how it was going to be for them from now on, he might as well have taken the shortcut to his grave, declining any treatment whatsoever. If he truly thought it were a better solution for Sara at this point, he would have done it without the beat of an eye. But he knew she wanted, _needed_, him as much alive as he wanted to be able to see their child being born.

Still holding one another, he lowered his head, pressing a soft kiss to the side of her head before whispering into her ear; "I'm going to call Doctor Hawkins' office today to schedule my first round of radio and chemo." Her small arms tightened around him, pulling him even closer to her. "And then I though we could go out for a walk in the park, grab some breakfast and coffee on our way…_tea_ for you," he stopped with a small smile then continued, "How does that sound to you?"

He could feel her nod tightly against his neck before the moisture of her tears touched his skin.

"_Sara,_" he croaked her name sadly, but before he could say anything further, she silenced him with a quiet and slightly chocked-up, "_Don't._"

~~~ooOoo~~~

Two hours later, they were nearly prepared to dart out of the apartment for an early walk, deciding the call to Doctor Hawking could wait once after they returned, when the phone rang.

Michael, already half through the door, stopped to wait when Sara signaled she would take the call. Glancing at Michael with a smile, she grabbed the receiver.

"Hello?" After a beat, "No, this is his…girlfriend. How can we help you?"

Michael watched her as her features suddenly changed. Listening with utmost care, her expression changed first from surprise to confusion. Michael made his way back into the room, closing the door behind him, stepping close to Sara. He tried to signal her, his eyes as well as mouth silently asking her who she was talking to, but she didn't seem to notice him.

After what seemed like an eternity for Michael, she gave a few affirmative answers and a "_Yes, 3 pm, we'll be there._" She hung-up the phone and held Michael's gaze in shock. Then her legs broke under her and her bottom hit their sofa, her face full of bewilderment.

"What? Sara, what?" Michael asked while sitting down right next to her. Without answering, her hands came up to cover her face.

"What happened? _Sara._" called Michael louder. He was starting to get worried.

"My…my father…" Sara stuttered out at last. "He just arranged your operation…"

Finally, her hands fell off her face, her eyes shimmering bright with moisture and something Michael was afraid never to see in them ever again, _hope_.

"He…he called in personally this morning, asking for their best surgeon and soonest time available to perform the operation…" she still spoke with unmasked haze.

"When?" he asked as a surge of uneasiness passed through him.

"Today," she replied, her expression suddenly changing, matching his, her eyes filling with fright.

~~~ooOoo~~~

"When did Lincoln say they'd be here?" asked Michael for the sixth time in the past twenty minutes. Sara gave a small sigh but answered him even for the sixth time with patience.

"He said they'd be here at one, he's picking up LJ from school right now, so they should be here shortly."

Michael merely nodded, his expression one of nervous anticipation.

They were in the hospital, Michael already changed into the thin uncomfortable hospital gown, sitting on his bed. He was fiddling with his fingers, gazing at them as if there was nothing more fascinating in the whole wide world.

Half an hour ago, they had finally been left alone by the nurses and Doctor Hawkins, who explained in great detail for nearly two hours the proceedings of Michael's oncoming operation. The specifics left Michael feeling a little queasy.

He was not the only one. Sara's hand closed over his scalp, now shaved completely clean, her mouth coming to rest against his temple protectively, leaving a trace of small kisses.

"You can still reconsider…" she told him quietly. "You don't have to do this, you know…if you don't want to." Her voice shook a little. She looked down at him, bringing his face upward to look at her.

"And don't do it for my sake either." She whispered, her eyes shimmering. "It's _your_ life Michael, your decision. I love you no matter what." Her eyes were now piercing his and Michael knew she was being deadly honest. She was giving him the choice to back away.

He looked down between them, taking her hands into his. He brought them to his face, resting his forehead against them before giving them a light kiss, his eyes finally coming to rest on her face.

"Thank you," he said simply, the couple knowing these two words carried far more intent and meaning than just a simple gesture of gratitude. "But I am sure about this." His clear blue eyes were boring deeply into hers. He needed her to understand, needed to take away her uncertainty, the feeling of responsibility he knew she secretly harbored.

"This is my only chance at a real life with you," his hand and eyes then traveled down, caressing her stomach lovingly. "And you," he added with a soft smile.

Her heart was breaking, but she willed the big lump forming in her throat away. His eyes came up once again, meeting hers.

"And I promise you Sara, I will do absolutely anything in my power to stay with you." A silent tear glided down her cheek, her fingers digging into his palms painfully. "But I need you to do something for me…" Michael continued in a fierce whisper and her heart nearly broke all over again at the sound of his familiar words, his tone as intense and as desperate as back then.

"If something happens," she was openly weeping now, her eyes closed and head partially averted from him, "I want you to have no regrets, no guilt. I just want you, I _need you,_ to be happy…for you, for our child. So you can tell him each day, how lucky they are, and how greatly loved."

~~~ooOoo~~~

Lincoln came twenty minutes later, LJ in his tow. It was nearly time, the hospital staff now regularly filtering in and out of the room, disrupting the last minutes of privacy for the young couple.

Spotting his brother in the hospital bed, his girlfriend holding his hand quietly, instantly sent Lincoln down a memory lane he hoped never to walk again. Stopping in the doorway, he squeezed his eyes for a moment, taking a huge breath. _He could do this._

"Hey Michael."

~~~ooOoo~~~

Engaging in a short light conversation with his nephew mostly about school, Michael then looked at Lincoln. The two brothers silently communicated with each other in a way that always sent Sara into astonishment about the depth of a sibling bond. It was quite obvious to her that Michael wanted to have a private conversation with his brother, the same way he had with her, but she couldn't bring herself to leave his side, a strange twitch of desperate jealousy in her chest.

She didn't own him, didn't have the right to claim him…no more than Lincoln or LJ that was, still she couldn't bring herself to do willingly what she knew Michael wanted, and probably needed, her to do.

Biting her inner cheek, she finally cursed her selfishness and making a quick decision took LJ by his shoulders, directing him towards the door and offering to buy him a soda, finally leaving the two brothers alone.

~~~ooOoo~~~

"Linc, I need you to do something for me," uttered Michael quietly, yet his firm stare into his brother's eyes underlined the seriousness of his request.

"I know…" replied Lincoln with a sigh, knowing what was most likely to come out of his brother's mouth next.

The two of them didn't mince words, didn't beat around the bush. They never did. The only time they weren't honest with each other put their relationship, their very lives, to the hardest test imaginable.

So the moment Lincoln entered his little brother's hospital room, he knew what Michael would ask of him. And Lincoln also knew without a doubt, what his answer would be.

"Look Linc, I know Sara looks tough, she likes to appear so. But on the inside, she is really vuln-"

"Michael, I_ know_," Interrupted Lincoln, a slight trace of frustration entering his voice despite his efforts to stay calm. He could only imagine how hard this had to be for his brother, and he surely didn't want to make it any harder on him. It was just far more difficult than he imagined, to hear those words leave Michael's lips, a plea to the older sibling to take care of his family once he wouldn't be there. _**If**__ he wouldn't be there_, Lincoln corrected his own thought quickly then continued, "And I swear to you, if something happens, she and the baby will never miss anything in their life, I will make sure of that. Not a single thing," Lincoln paused shortly, "…but you." he added, his eyes oddly glistering.

Michael felt silent, giving a small nod in return.

"Thank you."

"Don't mention it."

An uncomfortable silence fell between the brothers, neither knowing what to say, how far to go without saying out loud too much, yet saying everything they wanted to not have any regrets later.

"Listen, Michael," Lincoln started, his voice gruff and deep, "I owe you everything-"

Michael opened his mouth to stop him yet Lincoln raised his hand, asking his brother to let him finish.

"No! I _really_ gotta say this, so please, let me do so, just this once."

Michael gave a small nod, waiting for Linc to continue. The older man cleared his throat, his eyes roaming the walls. "I know I am the older brother, and it should have been _my_ job to take care of you and watch over you and make sure you don't get into trouble, not the other way around. And still, it's been you who has saved my ass when it's been on the line and gave me another chance, not just on life, but on the relationship with my son. And for that, I'll be forever grateful. I know you want to disagree with me, the person you are, you're probably thinking that you owed me in the first place, for the debt I made in order to provide you with a better future. But I know I haven't always been the best brother, especially when we were growing up. And I want you to know that every single thing you didn't receive from me in the past, I plan to repay tenfold _now_. If not to you, then to Sara and your child, and I _swear_ Michael, I won't let you down this time nor ever again."

When he finished, Michael's eyes were glazed over, and so were Lincoln's. Both were able only to stare back at each other, keeping quiet.

Then, Linc cleared his throat once again, taking a huge breath, a deep sigh leaving his lips. He closed the space between them, giving a kiss to Michael's cheek, then hovered closed to his ear, whispering; "I know you can do it, little brother, so just hang in there, okay? There will be one hell of a special woman waiting for you when you wake up, so don't screw it up. Now, I know you want to spend the remaining time before they take you to the OR with her – and don't disagree with me, I know you do, despite the fact that you would never have the heart to openly admit it just to spare mine and LJ's feelings, but let me tell you one thing – we are completely okay with it. I fully understand you and I wouldn't want you to have it any other way. So I am gonna leave you now, go find Sara and give you two the privacy you two need and deserve."

With that, he withdrew and made his way to the door where he turned for one last time, his hand coming to rest on the door. "I'll see you on the other side," he said confidently, his lips curled into a small smile. "We will be here the whole time, waiting. I'll take care of your girl for you and I'll make damn sure that the first thing you'll see once you wake up will be _her_."

With that, he left the room, leaving a very moved and suddenly extremely lonely-feeling Michael behind.

TBC

_AN – Next chapter – the operation. Cross fingers for Michael, God knows he will need all the support he can get. Also, cross fingers and pray for ME to find the time to write, lolz._

_In addition, click the little button at the bottom of the page and leave your thoughts behind. You surely understand I don't want you guys to wander around with them still in your head!_


	18. Chapter 14 Brother's Keeper Part 2

**Title:** Sins of our Fathers  
**Characters**: Michael Scofield, Sara Tancredi, Lincoln Burrows, LJ Burrows, Frank Tancredi, Bruce Bennet, OC  
**Pairing**: Michael/Sara  
**Word Count**: approx. 4500 words  
**Rating**: R for some language  
**Chapter**: 18  
**Genre**: Romance, Family, General, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, AU

**Summary:** _A year since Sara's trial for aiding and abbeting, going differently than in canon. Frank Tancredi didn't die at the hands of the company. Although Sara, Michael, Lincoln and LJ have a content and happy life, there is one thing troubling their existence – the broken relationship between a father with his estranged daughter. Will Michael find a way to save what's left of their relationship?_

_**A/N: This chapter is for **__**o0maybelle0o, happy birthday **__**hunny, this is your present! :) *throws conffetti***_

_Also, huge thanks goes to my friend Ashley for doing the beta. *hugs and kisses*_

**Chapter 14 (Part ****2) – Brother's keeper **

It started an hour ago and ever since, Sara counted every second of every minute. She couldn't help but constantly think about what part of the procedure they might currently be in, her medical education for once being of hindrance rather than asset. Her mind kept playing cruel tricks on her as she kept seeing all the ugly details that lay ahead of Michael, all of which wouldn't play a part in the end, she knew, but which nonetheless presently kept haunting her exhausted mind.

_The scalpel cut__ting through Michael perfectly shaped scull, the metal dividing the delicate shaven flesh into two. Blood trickled freely along, staining the sterile sheets. All while she was helplessly left to wait just outside. _

Rising resolutely from her seat in the family waiting room, Sara made her way to the door, sending a quick brave smile to LJ on her way out.

_She need__ed fresh air. Now._

Before she reached the coffee machine however, she heard familiar footsteps behind her. She took a deep, steadying breath and shut her eyes tight, all the while wishing it would make him go away.

It was nothing personal. Usually, she would probably enjoy his company, even welcome the caring sentiment behind it. But this was a moment - a time - she would rather spend alone.

Before her hand even reached into her pocket to retrieve some coins she knew she'd left there before, Lincoln was already throwing some into the machine, giving her a sheepish smile and urging her to pick her choice.

She smiled back and gave a small appreciative nod that never reached her eyes before pressing the '_ESPRESSO'_ tab, then adding some milk and sugar.

He only raised an eyebrow while they waited for her drink. Something about his smile irked her, and as she took the steaming cup into her hands, blowing softly over the surface of the hot liquid, she finally voiced her dissatisfaction.

"What?" she asked before taking a small sip from the plastic cup, the coffee burning her tongue.

Lincoln merely shrugged. "Nothing…" he replied but left the statement open. She gave him a doubtful look, raising her eyebrows to urge him on.

"Just…you sure you should be drinking coffee now?" he asked carefully.

Sara took her time gulping down another small sip, all the while thinking of how to answer his question. She understood his concerns, and she knew he meant no harm, but another part of her mind kept screaming at her that this was simply none of his business, whatsoever.

"Recent researches have shown that drinking small amounts of coffee during a pregnancy doesn't have any affect on the mother or her fetus," she replied steadily in her well practiced and most professional doctor voice, using the word 'fetus' instead of 'baby' on purpose.

Lincoln smirked. "I know a person who would strongly disagree and argue with that…at least until he got his hands on all those researches first, you know, before he would let you get your way," he said good naturedly, "but he is not here and I am not gonna lecture you on your health." He meant the words to come out like a joke, but the meaning behind them hit them both hard.

The damage was done. Not that she had felt oh-so-wonderful before, but Lincoln's words hit home more that either of them would have anticipated and before Sara knew, there was moisture in her eyes, the coffee tasting way too bitter all of a sudden.

"I am sorry," she heard him say as she battled with her own emotions, "I didn't mean to…"

She raised her hand in a stopping gesture, shaking her head resolutely, stubbornly even. "No, no it's fine. I know how you meant it," she quipped, taking a couple of deep steadying breaths.

Turning on her spot, she threw the coffee into the bin next to the coffee machine, the aftertaste acrid in her mouth.

"You didn't have to do that," said Lincoln gently, trying to catch her eyes which she kept evading.

"I know," she nearly whispered, her heart aching.

The man she was supposed to have this argument with wasn't here. He wasn't here because he was currently lying on a table with his scull widely open in the nearby OR, while she was chatting here with his brother about her pregnancy, about something she should be discussing with the father of her child in the first place instead of his brother.

And Sara realized just how much she wanted, _yearned_, such a mundane argument with Michael, how much she would welcome it had they been given the chance. More moisture made its way into her eyes and she didn't even try to stop it now. Before she could realize what he's doing, Lincoln enveloped her in his arms, cradling them both back and forth. This time, she more than welcomed the comforting gesture, for she suddenly had problems standing on her feet.

"He is going to be alright," said Lincoln quietly, "and so are you. Just hang in there, okay?" He felt her nod against his shoulder at the same time her silent tears made contact with his shirt. Not for the first time that day, he wished they could trade places with his brother.

~~~ooOoo~~~

It's been three hours now and they still hadn't received any news. Sara knew no news were considered good news, as well as that the operation would take somewhere between five to eight hours. Still, she felt like she's been sitting on this comfortable armchair for days and not just mere hours.

To say she was exhausted was an understatement of the century. She felt dead tired. Ever since receiving Michael's diagnose, she hasn't closed her eyes properly for more than a light doze. As a doctor used to work graveyard shifts more often than she could count, she was used to running on as little sleep as necessary. With her current domestic lifestyle however, together with the added burden of worry for Michael's life and her pregnancy on top of it all, she was in no state to battle off sleep. Despite her search however, Mr. Sandman still kept evading her, never mind her knowledge there was never a time in her life she was more in need of sleep than ever.

Sara sighed, changing her position for the fifth time in the past hour, shooting a glance at Lincoln and LJ, both pretending to be reading some random magazines that were scattered on the table in the middle of the room. Lincoln raised his eyes momentarily, giving her a small smile and an inquiring look. Only once she shook her head did he return to pretending to be reading the magazine. She knew better of course, willing to give her right arm that he was in his thoughts constantly with his brother the same way she has been for the past three hours.

She closed her eyes anew, her lids feeling heavy, dry and scratchy. An hour ago, she started dozing off in her armchair, the fatigue finally catching up on her, but once the blanket Lincoln tried to drape a over her limp form touched her skin was she up and awake, unable to take another nap again.

The magazine hit the table with a loud tap causing Sara's eyes to snap wide open and shoot up, trying to identify the source of the noise.

"I am getting some food," announced Lincoln, exchanging a look with first LJ and then Sara.

"Any orders? I am headed to the hospitals canteen."

Sara shook her head, but LJ ordered such a long list of unhealthy junk food that it caused Sara to actually grin and comment on the teenager's unhealthy lifestyle.

Fifteen minutes and five dozing minutes later, Lincoln returned with handfuls of snacks, giving them out to his eager son. Sara smiled at the hungry look in LJ's eyes before feeling her own stomach churn with hunger. She brought her hand to cover her belly, wondering when was the last time she actually ate. With a pang of regret and shame, Michael's words echoed through her head.

_I want you to take care of yourself. I don't want to worry about you not eating or sleeping properly on top of everything else that's currently on your plate, so promise me you'll look carefully after the two of you, alright?_

"I figured you were more for the healthy stuff, so I brought you some fruit and pudding."

Sara had to blink several times before registering Lincoln's words and the goods he was holding in his outstretched hands. She took them with a grateful look before adding a silent '_Thank you_'.

She took first the banana, carefully starting to peel of the skin, her eyes wandering to the huge clock hanging over the door. Three and a half hours into the operation. She couldn't help but let her mind wander again to Michael and the vulnerable and dangerous state he was currently in.

_I love you. I'll always will._

Another single tear rolled down her cheek before she resolutely bit into the banana, determined to stay optimistic.

_I choose to have faith. It's the only thing that keeps me going._

There was a sudden knock on the door that made the three people in the room freeze. Sara's mind panicked. It was way too early for the operation to be over. Her eyes met Lincoln's equally concerned face over the table.

There was another knock and something in Sara strengthened as if in preparation for the inevitable. Nothing happened though, only a third knock resonated through the room after a couple of moments and the gesture confused Sara. Surely, the doctor wouldn't keep knocking, just waiting to be let in.

It was LJ who lost his patience first. Jumping to his feet, he quickly sprinted across the room and opened the door in one quick smooth motion.

It was Frank Tancredi's sheepish face that appeared in the doorway, his eyes meeting Sara's at once.

"Hello Sara." He said quietly and somewhat sheepishly. "I hope I might not intrude." With that, he kept staying in the doorway, two bodyguards shaping a shadow behind him in the brightly lit hallway.

It took a moment for Sara to recover and realize all eyes in the room and outside were on her, waiting for her agreement.

"Uhm, sure, no, I mean, come on in," she finally said, beckoning Frank into the room, checking with Lincoln for the briefest of moments if it were okay. Frank entered, closing the door behind him into the face of the two guarded men standing outside.

He stood there, not knowing how to proceed next, and it was Sara who made the next surprising move, getting to her feet and closing the distance between her and her father, enveloping him in a tight hug.

"Thank you dad," she whispered emotionally into his ear, "Thank you for giving him a chance."

~~~ooOoo~~~

They've sat and waited in the small room for hours, but with Frank Tancredi joining them less than an hour ago, the family room seemed all of a sudden too crowded. The intimate moment between father and daughter ended a short while later and after briefly shaking hands with LJ and Lincoln, they all resumed their places and had been sitting in silence ever since.

Frank started asking about the operation once or twice, but Sara's reluctance to discus the specifics and Lincoln's lack of knowledge stopped his attempts shortly. It was Lincoln who chose to break the ice at last.

"Governor," he begun politely, "I want to say how grateful I am for what you did for my brother. I know we are not your favorite people in the world, but for what it's worth, _thank you_."

Frank considered him for a moment, the sincerity behind the younger man's words clearly audible. With a nod, he said; "You're welcome."

"What made you change your mind?"

The question was quiet but sudden, the woman voicing it giving her father a questioning look. There wasn't anything offensive about in her tone, merely curiosity.

Frank gave a deep sigh, a trace of bitterness lacing his words. "My mind didn't need changing."

He gave his daughter a surprisingly penetrating look. She met it unwaveringly.

"You made it perfectly clear you didn't like the idea," argued Sara, but her voice was stripped of any bitterness this time. She was simply trying to figure out the man who claimed to be her father.

Frank sighed again. "I never told you I wouldn't do it, nor that I didn't want to." Sara opened her mouth to protest, but Frank stopped her with his hand raised. "No, hear me out Sara. The only thing I was trying to make you understand was that I was scared you would loose yourself in this last hope."

Sara gave him a confused look and Frank took a moment to choose the right words.

"Sara, when you came to me, all shaken up and desperate asking for my help, I didn't really hesitate about what to do, I mean, have I _ever_?" he asked and Sara's eyes dropped. The fact was, despite everything, her father never let her down when she came and directly asked for anything.

"That's not true," interjected Lincoln, "You left her rot in prison, never as much as visited her when she got stabbed. It was my brother who had to bail her out in the end," he said, unable to hold out a small trace of accusation in his voice.

"And I have paid my price for that," replied Frank, his tone surprisingly bitter.

For the first time in her life, Sara got a glimpse of life through her father's eyes. He's never let her down when it came to saving her ass from a mess, no matter how bad a father she thought he was, no matter how much he tried to save his political and public face along the way.

Never but once. And she made him pay for it, over and over again.

"Why didn't you say so then? Why say all those other things you knew would hurt me?" she asked, her own bitterness seeping through, unable to forget what was said between them on their last encounter.

"Because I thought you needed to hear them, no matter how hard they were," said Frank. "You were so engrossed in this hopeful thought that you appeared completely blind to the possibilities and consequences of your choice if your plan didn't work."

Sara's voice rose an octave. "I already told you that I knew all the risks involved-"

"Yes, you did! But you didn't stop to consider your own involvement in the issue," said Frank, his temper matching his daughter. "Look, I didn't come here to fight, I am really here because I care for you," he uttered quietly. "The only point I wanted to push across before agreeing to help you was that I didn't want you to have any regrets." Frank sighed tiredly, suddenly looking each one of his sixty-two years.

"Knowing you, your personality, I wanted to make sure you knew that no matter what happened, you were not responsible of the turnout. I wanted to make sure you knew life went on, no matter what. And most importantly, I wanted you to know you were not alone. And that Michael wasn't the only person on earth who still cared about you, regardless of what you might believe," he finished in a barely audible voice. His last words were uttered into a deafening silence, spoken to the magazine laden table rather than directly to his daughter.

None of the other occupants dared to say a word. LJ pretended to be a fly on the wall while Lincoln watched the exchange between father and daughter like a punchy sports match.

As for Sara, Frank's final words caused something inside of her to break. And despite a crucial need inside her heart to answer her father right away, she was momentarily lost for words as another fresh memory of the day hit her like a slap, new tears springing to her eyes.

When no words came, either from his daughter or anybody else, Frank decided it was time for a bathroom break. "If you'll excuse me for a moment," he mumbled, rising from his seat and leaving the room, unaware of his daughter internal emotional turmoil.

"_Sara?"_

_His head shave__n clean, Sara watched a drop of sweat making its way down the smooth flesh. Any moment now and the hospital staff would appear in the doorway and take him away from her._

"_Uhmm?" she hummed, her hand coming to cradle his scull in a protective gesture. If he only knew what a beautiful mind resided behind those way too vulnerable walls of bone, skin and human tissue._

"_I love you, you know that, right?"_

_The lump in her throat gagged her so she could only give a small nod in reply. _

"_But I am not the only one, you know that too?" Her eyes finally met his. His look was unwavering, resolved._

"_You've got a family, remember? There is Lincoln and LJ, who adore you. There is your father, who, despite your differences, agreed to help a guy whose guts he hates only to favor you." She started to shake her head, tears sliding down her cheeks. She didn't like where this conversation was heading and she wanted to stop him, but he continued._

"_And there is also," his voice hitched for the very first time, his eyes sliding down her frame until they stopped on her stomach, "another little Scofield on his way that will love you more than you could ever know." _

_Sara's eyes closed in pain, his words sounding to her like a goodbye. They agreed on no goodbyes, so why was he suddenly breaking the rules?_

"_Sara, look at me," he whispered, his hand cupping her cheek and caressing it lightly until she complied._

"_I am not saying goodbye," he whispered, leaving her once again wondering if he could read her mind._

"_Why are you telling me this then?" she choked out._

"_Because I need you to know that no matter what happens, either way, life will go on."_

~~~ooOoo~~~

It was bizarre. She always thought Michael was everything her father wasn't, and in many aspects, she's been right. But having her father tell her the same things Michael had only a couple hours ago, left her fundamental beliefs about her father shaken.

"Are you alright?" she heard Lincoln ask, but could only nod in reply. Nothing in her life was alright at the moment, yet some things seemed to smooth themselves out where she least expected it.

Lost in her thoughts, she barely registered her father returning, a bottle of orange juice in his hand.

"It's for you, sweetheart," he said, pushing the bottle into her surprised hands.

"Uhm, thank you," she managed to reply, unsure of the reason behind the gesture.

"Your mom hated orange juice," continued Frank, dropping his frame into a sofa at the far end of the room, "but she forced herself to drink it when she was pregnant with you."

_Oh__._

Crimson filled Sara's cheeks, but she couldn't understand why.

"So I take it's true then, what you told me?" asked Frank, eyeing Sara while waiting for an answer.

"Yep, my brother knocked her up," chipped Lincoln in, a proud grin spreading across his face.

"Always the gentleman, dad," said LJ, rolling his eyes, watching Sara's face grow even hotter. "Uncle Mike will kick your ass once I tell him how you spoke about her."

"No he won't, cause you won't tell him."

"What makes you so sure?"

"Well, for starters, you live under _my _roof-"

"Guys," interrupted Sara tiredly, causing both men fall silent. As much as she appreciated Lincoln's attempt on crude humor, as well as the bickering of father and son, she wasn't in the mood today.

"Sorry," they mumbled in unison. Sara directed her tired stare at her father while unscrewing the lid of the bottle and taking a gulp of her juice. Unlike her mother, she always loved the taste.

"Yes dad, I am pregnant," she finally answered her father's question, confirming in a serious voice yet unable to keep the tiredness out of it. "And we're, despite the circumstances, very happy about it." She added, unable to hide a tiny smile upon thinking of the way Michael kissed her upon learning their news.

"I thought you couldn't…." said Frank but stopped himself abruptly, realizing he unwisely tackled of the sore subject of her medical records again.

"We thought so as well," said Sara, generously deciding to ignore the issue of her father's tactless and rude interference into her privacy. "But as you can see, miracles can happen," she uttered softly, her hand instinctively coming to rest on her yet flat stomach.

"Congratulations Sara. You'll make a wonderful mother," said Frank quietly, an unknown tenderness entering his voice.

"Thank you, dad." And despite all of their lingering unresolved issues, for the first in a long time, Sara felt like there was still hope for their broken relationship.

~~~ooOoo~~~

It was nearly midnight, more than eight hours after the start of Michael's operation, when they heard a commotion outside the family room door and the doctor finally walked in with the results.

Hawkins wasn't one to mince words, and in cases like this, he had only one gesture in store for the waiting relatives. He stretched out his arm and pushed his thumb up.

There was no outbreak of happy laughter or cries in the room, but the shift in mood was almost palpable in the small space. Dr. Hawkins quickly took in the faces of the occupants, one of which was the Governor of Illinois himself, he only now registered with a sinking feeling. Hawkins pulled down his mask tiredly, turning to the woman, the only occupant of the room he knew personally from Michael's interview a couple of days earlier. He smiled at her kindly and was not surprised when he noticed tears glistering in her eyes.

"Thank you," she whispered and Hawking smiled widely. He loved to deliver news like this, it was the cherry on top of what made his job so rewarding.

"Sara, right?" he said, watching her nod. "Michael mentioned your name a couple of times during the operation," he continued with a toothy grin, noticing first the woman's bewilderment, then the realization dawn upon her, her cheeks flushing crimson.

She cleared her throat, her thoughts again on Michael. "How is he?"

"Well, we think we got it all, although that is something only time will tell. Also, there is the risk of the mass starting to grow again. However, for starters, we should really be happy with the outcome of the operation. There were no major complications and all neurological functions, the congnitive, memory and other important centers seem not to have been affected."

Sara exhaled loudly, her knees breaking underneath her as she sunk into her chair.

"So it means he is going to be okay?" asked Lincoln hopefully, glancing at Sara for confirmation. A small smile crept upon her face. "Yes Lincoln, it means he is most probably going to be fine."

"Can we see him?" asked Lincoln, directing his question at Hawkins who visibly hesitated.

"We put him in the ICU for the night and he's been given sedatives to sleep. It was a very demanding operation and he needs to recover before we start with the chemo and radio therapy," he said carefully.

"Please doc, just for a minute," pleaded Lincoln.

Hawkins still hesitated, "It's the ICU, it's not supposed to accommodate visitors." Lincoln raised his eyebrows challengingly. He was never one to obey rules.

Hawkins looked around the room, trying to find support, yet seeing the look on the Governors face, he didn't dare to protest any longer.

"I could maybe allow one short visit," Hawkins gave in at last, expectantly looking at Lincoln. But you'll have to scrub in and put on some protective clothes.

He motioned for Lincoln to follow him, but the huge man turned to the woman instead. "Well, you heard the man, chop-chop. Give my brother our love," he said to her softly, knowing she didn't expect this. She shook her head confusedly, trying to refuse the generous gesture; "No Lincoln, that's very sweet of you, but I know how much you want to see him-"

"Don't be such a buzzkill and go, I tell you. Trust me, you are the only face my brother pines to see tonight…or any other night for that matter." He said, his lips stretching into a wide grin.

Sara didn't hesitate a second time, just crossed the room and hugged Lincoln tightly. "Thank you Lincoln Burrows. You are a very generous man. Thank you for everything," she whispered into his ear.

Touched by her words, Lincoln tried his best to concentrate on something else to stop the blush from creeping up his neck to his face. Over Sara's head, he noticed Frank watching the pair of them. There was nothing short of envy in the older man's eyes and in that moment, Lincoln felt for the man strongly.

He knew how it felt to be on the receiving end of despise from your own kid and he never wished that on anybody.

Finally nudging Sara softly, he turned her towards the door and towards Hawkins.

"_Go_."

She followed but stopped at the door one last time, turning to her father. Her eyes bright with happy tears, she said; "I will never forget what you've done for us. Thank you daddy." Then, she hugged her father with all she had.

~~~ooOoo~~~

He opened his eyes slowly. He was tired, extremely tired, but something caused him to wake up. A voice, or was it a simple caress?

His eyes hurt even in the dim light and he had to blink a couple of times before he could even start to focus on his surrounding.

Something brown, warm and shiny came to his vision, a pair of familiar eyes smiling down on him and he smiled involuntarily.

"How'd it go?"

A hand caressed his face, a warm thumb running soothing, gentle circles over his cheek.

"Wonderfully. So I guess you're stuck with me," she said, her voice low but cheery. She took his hand in his before bringing it up to kiss his knuckles. He smiled again.

"Thank God for that," he whispered, his eyes staying closed despite his fight to keep them open.

"Lincoln and LJ send their love," Sara added quickly, wanting to make good on her promise upon noticing Michael's growing fatigue.

"I love…'ou…" he managed to slur out at last before sleep finally claimed him, yet not before he heard her answer.

"We love you too."

TBC

_A/N: Now show me some love guys, it makes me write quicker, I swear! ;-)_


	19. Chapter 15 The Fears and Woes of Life P1

**Title:** Sins of our Fathers  
**Characters**: Michael Scofield, Sara Tancredi, Lincoln Burrows, LJ Burrows, Frank Tancredi, Bruce Bennet, OC  
**Pairing**: Michael/Sara  
**Word Count**: approx. 5 250 words  
**Rating**: R for some language  
**Chapter**: 19  
**Genre**: Romance, Family, General, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, AU

**Summary:** _A year since Sara's trial for aiding and abbeting, going differently than in canon. Frank Tancredi didn't die at the hands of the company. Although Sara, Michael, Lincoln and LJ have a content and happy life, there is one thing troubling their existence – the broken relationship between a father with his estranged daughter. Will Michael find a way to save what's left of their relationship?_

_A/N: I want to thank one very __**Kind **__person for everything, from her input and her support to her simple awesomeness. Girl, you rock!_

**Chapter 15 (Part 1) – ****The Fears and Woes of Life**

There was a soft, but firm knock on the door and Michael was immediately glad and relieved his guest didn't use the rather sharp doorbell. He rose from the end of the sofa carefully, closely monitoring his sleeping companion for any signs of awaking and when he found none he crossed the apartment in a few quick strides, opening the door to welcome their guest.

"Evening, Michael," greeted Frank, entering the apartment upon Michael's silent invitation, leaving his bodyguards to take their usual stance outside the door.

"Hello, Frank." The two men walked the hallway mutely, Michael pausing in the door to their living room, silently waving for Frank to come closer to observe.

On the couch curled under a soft blanket and almost cat-like, slept Sara. Tendrils of red hair spilled on the cushion like a forest fire. Her face looked peaceful, one hand resting on the blanket just over the soft curve of her growing belly.

It's been nearly three months since Michael's operation, life keeping them so busy with work, treatment, pregnancy and mundane tasks that they barely found the time to meet for dinner with family and friends more often than once every couple of weeks.

The beginning had been shaky to say the least; especially when Lincoln and Frank shared the same room for a prolonged period of time but they seemed to find a comfortable pace soon enough, each man trying to act respectful around each other mostly for the benefit of their joint sole female interest.

"How is she?" asked Frank quietly, reluctantly tearing his eyes off of her sleeping form to follow Michael into the kitchen where they could talk more freely.

The younger man gave a heavy sigh, his hand coming to cradle his bald head, still disfigured by an all too visible scar. He crossed the kitchen, taking out two mugs to prepare some tea. Something smelling rather tasty was boiling in a pot on the stove. "Tired, stressed and overworked, although she would never admit that to anybody," he replied at last, an audible trace of bitterness in his tone.

Frank grinned despite himself. "And stubborn as hell, I presume," he added, his eyebrows raised.

Michael grinned back. "Like you wouldn't believe."

They kept looking at each other for a moment, a silent understanding passing between them of the common passion they shared, linking them together until Michael evaded his eyes, turning to pour some hot water into the mugs with tea. He sighed audibly once more.

"I'm sorry we couldn't make it to your place. I know we promised," he shot Frank an apologetic look, but the older man just waved it away. "She really didn't feel good and considering everything, I though it best if we stayed home and she got some rest."

Frank only nodded. "It's no big deal. So, how are you two holding up?" he asked, piercing Michael with an inquiring look, his eyes straying shortly to the scar on his scalp.

"We are good," hastened Michael with the reply. "…considering," he added.

"From what you just told me about my daughter, it doesn't seem the case."

Michael exhaled tiredly, looking at least ten years older to Frank. "I am concerned for her, to be honest. She has too much on her plate. She is working twelve hour shifts five days a week, while five months pregnant. And when she finally could have the opportunity to rest a little bit, she comes home to a cripple she has to take care of along with everything she has going on…" the last words were uttered with a fair amount of self-spite.

"Well, have you tried to help her out somehow then? At least get some things done around the house?" asked Frank, looking at the boiling pots on the stove pointedly.

"I try," said Michael, hugging the mug so tight his fingertips grew white. "She doesn't let me. I wanted to do some things around the apartment, at least during those times I am feeling strong enough, but she wouldn't let me. The last time I tried to wash the dishes despite 'her doctor orders', she got so upset she burst into tears," Michael lamented.

"Hormones?" suggested Frank amusedly, watching a small smile spread across Michael's face that seemed to turn his rather pale skin a healthier shade of pink immediately.

"Possibly," he admitted, looking into his mug. The smile quickly disappeared. "I am really concerned for her, Frank. She wants to shoulder everything. And even the little I can do, she won't let me. Four times a week she drives me to the hospital for my chemo, then rushes to work only to return a couple of hours later to pick me up, drive me home and take care of me while I vomit all over the place -" at the last of his confession he seemed to halt himself embarrassedly, before looking miserably at Frank.

"What about your brother? I thought he was helping out?"

"He _is_. But there are certain things, tasks, Sara won't let even _him_ do. Mostly anything concerning me and my…_condition_," uttered Michael, his cheeks now distinctly turning crimson. He cleared his throat before he continued, "He mostly shops for groceries, runs some errands, 'babysits' me when Sara's at work…" he sighed again, resting his forehead in his palm.

"You look rather tired yourself," observed Frank quietly.

Michael raised his eyes in surprise and shook his head. "No, I am alright, just _worried_. I really wish she-" he halted himself again, this time more firmly, as if catching himself on the verge of revealing something too private. He met Franks eyes again, his voice gaining a desperate lilt. "I am just afraid that at this pace she is going to hurt herself, or the baby. I would never forgive myself for that."

The load of responsibility the younger man seemed to feel for both his daughter and his unborn child hit Frank full force. He had still trouble approving his daughter's choice of current partner, but at moments like these, he truly saw what this man could be for her. What this man _tried_ to be for her, despite the rather unfortunate circumstances.

"Is there anything I can do? If it's a question of money-"

"_No_," interrupted Michael hastily, crimson rising into his cheeks again. "No, Frank. Thank you, but it's not about money." He was clearly embarrassed now. "Linc is helping out in that department, and you've done more than enough already. I appreciate your offer though." He continued quietly, "Apart from that, you know how proud your daughter is. She would never accept this kind of help from you if she could avoid it, and I would never dare to force her despite the fact that it breaks my heart to see her exhaust herself like this and being unable to do anything myself about the situation…"

"Why is she so stubborn to accept my help?" asked Frank angrily, annoyed and clearly hurt. "Does she really despise me that much?"

There was a surprised look in Michael's eyes. His eyes wandered shortly to the open kitchen door, his ears straining to hear any sound from the neighboring living room. Placated she was still deeply asleep, he looked soundly into Frank's eyes, the sharp glance making the older man slightly uncomfortable.

Michael wanted to tell a lot of things to Frank at that moment. He wanted to tell him that he really didn't know his daughter at all if he thought that little of her. He wanted to tell him his little girl still loved him and craved his approval and recognition above all else. He wanted to tell him she still felt ashamed to look him in the eye whenever she thought back to her days of addiction, and that the feeling of being indebted to him made her feel sick at times. That he made her feel like a little girl still, an ever-dependant child that couldn't take care of herself no matter what. That she wanted more than anything to prove how much she could accomplish on her own, just so he would be proud of her for once in his life. That she was probably even more proud and more stubborn than he could ever be. And that in the end, the two of them were more alike than either of them realized.

He didn't tell him like that, though. Instead, he tried to explain as best as he could, all the while trying to stay loyal to the woman sleeping in the next room.

"Frank, your daughter is a proud woman. She has gone through so much in her life, but still she feels like she has to prove herself to you. She believes you hold her incapable of taking care of herself, and that makes her question herself, because despite everything that's happened between the two of you, she loves you and values your opinion of her greatly. She wants, _needs_, to prove to you as well as to herself that she is a grown woman, capable of looking after herself. It's not _you_ she is refusing, it's your money and influence. Not because she despises you, quite the opposite. It's because she wants to show you how she's grown, matured, so you could be proud. I know it's probably extremely hard for you, watching her work herself up like this when a single check of yours could fix all her troubles but this is exactly what she doesn't want. She is trying to break a pattern here and show her independence. Not from you, but from your security that she's been leaning upon like a crutch for the majority of her life. She needs to do this, as much as for you as she needs to do this for herself and you have to let her do this so you can _both_ see that she's grown into an independent and self-confident person."

There was silence in the room, save the hissing sound coming from the steaming pots. Michael rose to his feet, crossed the room and stirred the contents in the pot, the room falling silent again.

"I do believe her to be a grown woman who can look after herself," said Frank quietly. Michael turned from the stove, looking at the grim-faced man in front of him.

"But she doesn't. And I think this stubbornness to accept any help whatsoever, from you _or_ from me, might be her way of trying to test and prove that she indeed is. Not only to us, but most importantly, to herself."

"Even if it harms her? Or her child?" asked Frank, his eyes shadowed with worry of his own. Michael looked away, pain shooting through his features. Turning to the stove, he didn't reply.

~~~ooOoo~~~

When she opened her eyes again, the first thing she noticed was that she was alone. The television has been muted, flashing silent pictures. Her favorite blanket was however draped over her, her hand resting over her growing stomach. She smiled. Stretching a little, she noted her slightly frozen limbs. It was a good feeling. She hadn't felt this good and this well-rested in quite some time.

She recalled the queasiness that forced her to lie down in the first place. Well, that _and_ Michael, who relentlessly pleaded with her to get some rest until she had no other choice but to comply. She remembered how they sat down onto the sofa, Michael slowly guiding her body down until she rested comfortably with her head relaxing into his lap. Squinting into the dim light of the room now, she noted Michael must have replaced the comfort of his own body with a cushion at some point.

Her thoughts were still a bit foggy as she glanced around the room. Her hand strayed under the blanket and then her shirt, her fingers coming to slowly caress the straining skin of her stomach in soothing circles. It felt good. _She_ felt good.

She looked around the room again, finally starting to fully awake. She remembered Michael promising her he would call her father and cancel their appointed dinner…wait, not cancel, rather transfer…to their place...yeah, that must be it.

Her eyes wondered to the windows. The curtains were closed, however, she could assume light was growing dim outside. She must have been asleep for quite some time.

She sat up abruptly only to regret it an instant later with her head momentarily spinning. She waited a couple of moments and held her breath, waiting for the ever present nausea hit her but she waited in vain. A victorious smile graced her features.

She was about to call out for Michael, but she needn't have bothered. The bare rustle of the couch and blanket must have alerted him to her awaking, for he was already walking through the door by the time she raised her eyes to find him, a glass of water in his hand.

"Hello sleepyhead," he warbled cheerily, an infectious smile lighting his slightly pale and skinny, yet still extremely handsome features. "Slept well?" he asked, the care in his tone spilling an immeasurable amount of warmth through her chest every single time. He sat down next to her, handing her the glass. "Here, take a sip of water."

She smiled gratefully at him before she raised the glass to her lips. "Thank you," she said, lowering her glass onto the table after taking a couple of slow gulps. "And I had the most amazing nap. Thank you for making me take it," she uttered quietly, closing the distance between them, pressing a chaste yet loving kiss upon his lips. Their moment was interrupted way too quickly, however, by a subtle yet distinctive cough.

Looking around Michael curiously, she saw her father standing in the doorway.

"Dad!" she said breathlessly, kicking herself for forgetting Michael inviting him over instead of dining at his mansion. She made a move to stand up, but the quick movement sent her reeling and in search of the couch once again.

"Whoa, easy," said Michael, his grip on her tightening, navigating her safety onto the sofa.

"You okay, sweetheart?" asked Frank concernedly, crossing the room and sitting on the other side of his daughter. She nodded a bit shakily.

"Yeah…I just sometimes forget I am now carrying around a living bowling ball that keeps throwing me off my balance every now and then," she murmured, blushing while Frank gave her a soft kiss on the cheek. There was an unknown tenderness in the gesture, Sara noted. "What time is it?" she asked.

"Nearly 7 pm," replied Michael, watching her eyes widen. "I made some pasta. Hungry?" he asked, rising from the couch and offering his hands to her. She gave him a pointed look while taking his hands. She used her hold on them to haul herself up, then steadied herself momentarily against his frame.

"I swear it was a really quick put together, nothing special," he promised. "Took me less than half an hour and I mostly sat through it." She gave him a skeptical look but didn't elaborate, disappearing into the bathroom to fix her appearance instead.

Closing the door behind her, she missed the looks of silent concern the two most important men in her life were exchanging.

~~~ooOoo~~~

"So I guess you like it," Michael cheerily observed upon watching Sara's second portion of pasta quickly disappearing from her plate. She nodded happily, the huge and contented smile lighting up the whole room.

"The sauce is so delicious, what did you put in there?" she asked with amazement, eyeing the contents of the saucepan curiously. "You've never cooked it before," she observed, grinning in return to the charming smile he was giving her.

Winking, he said at last, "Secret of the chef I am afraid," and laughed when she playfully smacked his arm.

The dinner has been a rather pleasant one, Sara being the heart and soul of it, her afternoon nap leaving her well-rested and content for once.

She took Michael's hand resting upon the table and gave it a light squeeze before she turned to Frank expectantly, obviously waiting for him to also appraise Michael's culinary skills. He shot a quick glance at Michael, whose eyes seem to bore themselves into the surface of the table suddenly and obviously out of sheer embarrassment. This brought a huge smile to Frank's own face. The boy seemed to blush a lot. It gave him a piece of good-natured satisfaction. It was nice to see someone else embarrassed by Sara once in a while.

"Well, although we are definitely not in a five star restaurant," he watched Sara scowl at his words and hid his grin, "I have to admit Michael, the meal had something in it," he finished, the grin finally escaping upon listening to Michael's mumbled '_thanks_'.

He turned his focus to his daughter instead, putting the younger man out of his misery. "You look rather good-natured today. How's work?" he asked.

"Oh, work's just…work," said Sara with just a hint of annoyance.

"I thought you liked your profession," offered Frank, more than a little taken aback by her tone. He never heard his daughter even hint as much as disinterestedly about her job of helping other people. Quietly, he observed that Michael's expression also looked a little bit surprised, his grip on her hand tightening in silent support.

The switch in her mood was instantaneous. "I _still do_ like medicine, if that's what you are implying," she said, more that a little anger now in her voice. "I just-" she stopped, huffing out a breath of air. Upon catching Michael's look, she seemed to quickly catch herself however. Her eyes fell to the table, her voice sounding once again exhausted. "It's just that the job I currently have is not very….rewarding."

Frank didn't say anything, waiting for Sara to elaborate. This was rather surprising to her, making her wonder if her father may be truly interested, maybe for the very first time in his life to hear about her work and the problems she daily encountered. She decided to give it a shot.

"You know that I work in an underfunded small clinic downtown, right?" Frank nodded. "I daily get to see patients who cannot effort health care for either themselves, or their children."

"Well, isn't that why you should be happy you can help them out then?" interrupted Frank and send Michael momentarily wondering, how a governor of Illinois could be so naïve in his inquiry. Sara didn't seem to be surprised at all.

"Well," she took a deep breath, "No, not really, dad," she declared with a sigh. "It's hard to really be happy when I have to send away a mother with a prescription for antibiotics when I know she has no funds to actually buy them. Or when I have to inform a fourteen-year-old she is missing her period because she's actually pregnant, or when we have to close the clinic for a whole day because someone has broken in, _again,_ and raided our medicine cabinets for drugs."

There was so much bitterness and resentment in Sara's words, that they sent even Michael wondering why she was suddenly so pessimistic about all the good she could accomplish in the clinic.

"Or," she continued, her voice suddenly trembling, whether from emotion or anger Michael couldn't distinguish, "when a shot ten-year-old is being thrown out of a passing car at our doorstep, as I experienced today," she finished, her eyes suddenly red.

There was a short silence in the room, Michael the first one to speak. "God, Sara. I am so sorry. Why didn't you tell me before?" He brought his arm around her shoulders, bringing her close, her head coming to rest on his shoulder. She shrugged, her eyes gazing unfocusedly into the table. A realization occurred to Michael. "Is this part of the reason why you felt so sick before? The day must have been extremely stressful." She didn't reply.

Frank was silent for a moment, then he spoke with deliberate care. "I knew that part of town was dangerous, but I obviously underestimated it." Then, after another beat, he added, "I know you like your work, but Sara, working in such an environment obviously harms you. Look at today."

The atmosphere in the room changed. Sara gave Frank a sharp, defiant look, daring him to continue.

"Honey, I-" he started, but his voice failed him. "I am just worried for you, that's all," he uttered feebly. "You're pregnant for Christ's sake, at least think of the baby."

"What is that supposed to mean?" she snapped.

"Nothing, Sara," interrupted Michael soothingly, deciding it was time to step into the conversation. "Your father is only worried for you. He didn't mean anything by it so don't look for any other meaning in his words. I cannot say I blame him," he added quietly, his eyes shying away to observe the walls of their kitchen. "You know I am worried about you, too."

The beaten look on his face caused a lump to form in her throat, but it was his next words that nearly brought tears in her eyes. "Please, don't get angry at us for voicing our concerns, we're just worried about you because we love you," Michael pleaded, willing her not to take their words as a challenge.

She shook her head, feeling a bit ashamed for her outburst. "I'm not, I just…" she sighed tiredly, "It's the long hours I am working. I am exhausted and get grumpy easily. I'm sorry."

"Why don't you cut down on those hours a little bit, then?" suggested Frank carefully.

Sara shook her head anew. "I can't," she simply said, leaving the second part of the sentence to herself. Her cheeks betrayed her by staining crimson red. Although he probably knew, she would never admit openly to her father the only reason she kept working herself into the ground was because they needed the money.

"Okay," said Frank at last, deciding his daughter looked uncomfortable and tired enough to resist pressing the subject any further. To his surprise, a silent '_thank you_' came from her.

"For what?" he asked, confused.

"For not pushing it," she uttered quietly, raising her eyes to meet his. He hasn't seen the chocolate orbs looking this warmly at him for years. He gave her a small, supportive smile.

"Okay," Michael rose from his feet, "How about some tea or coffee? Sara, Frank?"

"Tea would be great, but let me," said Sara, rising to her feet before Michael even got a chance to stop her.

"Sara? Really, it's no problem," he said, his hands coming up to caress her shoulders and he briefly kissed her forehead. She considered arguing with him, but looking at her father and the rather amused look at his face, she let the subject drop. She sat down again, carefully watching Michael's every move as he cleared off the table to make room for mugs, taking requests from Sara and Frank.

While putting the dishes into the sink, his vision momentarily blurred all of a sudden and he wobbled a little in his spot and grabbed the counter for support, causing Sara to shoot up from her place and rush to his side in concern.

"What is it, Michael? Are you alright?" she asked in a concerned voice, watching his hand rise to squeeze the bridge of his nose.

"Don't worry, don't worry," Michael uttered urgently, willing the black spots to disappear from his vision before he raised his eyes to Sara's own, that were full of concern. "I am fine," he affirmed her, his hands coming to cradle her face reassuringly. "Just a moment of weakness," he explained softly, his thumbs caressing her cheeks soothingly. She seemed to evaluate his answer for a moment.

"It's okay, just take it easy, alright? Let me finish this for you while you sit down and rest," she said soothingly, turning to the counter and starting to finish their tea for Michael, unaware he was left standing there with his hands hanging uselessly at his sides. She literally _dismissed_ him.

From his point of view, Frank could observe a couple of things at once. He could see a man trying hard to placate his pregnant girlfriend. Yet upon his release of Sara, he could also see the sudden discomfort, silent humiliation even, in the younger man's eyes.

He could only imagine how hard it must be for Michael to be unable to complete the simplest of tasks, having his pregnant girlfriend stepping in for him, all in front of her father.

Frank cleared his throat, averting his eyes momentarily, an unknown, uncomfortable and sudden feeling of intruding on something deeply private gripping his insides.

"I think Michael is perfectly able of finishing the task himself, Sara," he uttered at last. Sara didn't respond, causing the situation to become even more awkward and tense. Michael was still standing at the counter, now closely observing his hands.

"Go sit down," Sara instructed curtly, all the while keeping her back turned towards them.

"I-" Michael started, but never finished the sentence. He merely kept studying his hands.

Frank didn't remember ever feeling this awkward, with the possible exception of the very first time he had to bail his daughter out of jail. The whole situation was simply ridiculous. Why the hell didn't Michael man up and say something about it however, Frank couldn't understand.

"Does my daughter always boss you around like this?" asked Frank, half-mockingly, half-annoyed. The effect of his question was explosive.

"Dammit dad, he's sick!" Sara shouted, turning on her heel to face the table. The tears she'd been hiding while finishing the tea glistered in her eyes. "I really don't know how else to explain it to you, but he still is! He had his skull sawed open a mere three months ago, for Christ's sake, and he is still undergoing radical treatment that's practically poisoning his healthy cells amongst the sick ones. He is constantly in danger of suffering a huge number of side effects and conditions I can scarcely think about, merely _because_ he's getting this treatment. On his good days he is able to eat at maybe a bowl of soup and keep it down instead of throwing it up all over the place. He's got fevers and cold-sweats every other day, day _or_ night, and a blood vessel could rupture anywhere in his body at any moment just because his system is so weakened by the chemo. The fact that you get to see him looking 'okay' from time to time doesn't mean he's actually okay," she stopped in the onslaught of words, hiccupping as the silent tears started to fall down her face.

"Sara, just calm down, please-" Michael stretched out his hand, trying to reach her, but she took a step back.

"Every single day as I leave for work and Lincoln is not yet here, I dread the twenty or so minutes I know you're going to spend alone, afraid something might happen to you in the short span when I am _not_ with you," she confessed, now turning her rage at the injustice of it all towards Michael. "And when I finally come home, I find out that you've actually tried to repair the boiler in the bathroom during the day, shifting the heavy thing around the place. How do you think does that make me feel?" Without waiting for an answer, she continued, "I feel like the only fool here trying to keep you alive while everybody else keeps giving me these pitying looks, tiptoeing around me and whispering about pregnancy hormones and stress, but you know what Michael? You want to know what _really_ keeps me stressed? That I never know what I'll find when I come home. Will you still be okay when you try out some new…_stunt,_ completely disregarding your condition? Or whether I'll just be able to wake you up in the morning, or whether you'll ever get to hold our child in your hands!" She stopped at this, clasping her hands over her mouth in shock at her own words before she completely dissolved into tears, her hands coming to cover her whole face.

Michael stepped closer, cautiously approaching her. Just within her reach, he gently laid his hands on her shoulders, his eyes glistering from his own tears. The moment he touched her she immediately fell against him, crying into his shoulder while her hands sneaked around his back, hugging him close.

"I'm sorry," she sobbed, "I know it's not your fault. It's not your fault that you're sick. I know you're doing your best, I know. It's not your fault, it's not your fault," she kept repeating, choking on her own words. Michael merely cradled her towards himself even closer, laying her head into his shoulder and tucking it under his chin, his hands drawing soothing patterns over her back.

"It's okay, just calm down," he kept murmuring into her ear.

He turned his head towards the table, as if only now remembering they had a guest sitting in their kitchen, watching the whole scene.

The look of devastation and misery on Michael's face as he caught sight of Frank caused the other man to look away with shame. Why; he didn't know. Probably because he knew that this kind of thing should never be observed by a third person.

"I am sorry," mouthed Michael to Frank, all the while cradling his daughter tightly to himself in a protective cocoon and Frank realized that even though he never desired it, he's probably just witnessed one of the most private scenes in his daughter's life.

Despite the embarrassment, Frank felt a rather great portion of admiration for the calm and confidence with which Michael seemed to handle the situation. Where he stood like a little boy being scolded at by his mother only moments before, now stood a man who, despite his own obvious pain, offered a solid frame and a shoulder Sara could securely lean upon.

Watching him like this, a sudden thought occurred to Frank. Where he before considered Michael to be unmanly and ball-less for not speaking up when Sara ordered him around, he now considered the younger man's behavior a rather deliberate intent.

He clearly saw Michael's embarrassment of Frank witnessing his state of weakness, followed by Sara's taking over of the matter. And yet, he obviously thought it more important to appease Sara than to appear undaunted in front of her father.

To his credit, Frank had to admit he never saw any other man in his daughter's life, even the decent ones like Nate Lockhart for example, that would put his daughters comfort in front of his own in such a distinctive way.

He looked back at the couple, again feeling like a voyeuristic intruder. He caught Michael's eye and silently pointed first to himself and then the door, standing up. Michael gave a small nod, holding his gaze for a moment, then switching his focus back to Sara's shaking form. She seemed completely oblivious to the outside world, and despite Frank's sudden urge to say goodbye to his little girl, he withheld himself.

He silently exited the kitchen, grabbed his coat in the hall and let himself quietly out of the apartment knowing now, and maybe for the very first time in his life, that his daughter was in very capable and safe hands.

TBC

_A/N: __Don't worry, still on the planet, still writing, just taking my time. I've also got myself a nice little helper that keeps me inspired, so I definitely plan on going with this thing.:) Cross fingers, be patient and leave a review, and you might see another chapter soon. _


	20. Chapter 15 The Fears and Woes of Life P2

**Title:** Sins of our Fathers  
**Characters**: Michael Scofield, Sara Tancredi, Lincoln Burrows, LJ Burrows, Frank Tancredi, Bruce Bennet, OC  
**Pairing**: Michael/Sara  
**Word Count**: approx. 12 500 words  
**Rating**: R for some language  
**Chapter**: 20  
**Genre**: Romance, Family, General, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, AU

**Summary:** _A year since Sara's trial for aiding and abbeting, going differently than in canon. Frank Tancredi didn't die at the hands of the company. Although Sara, Michael, Lincoln and LJ have a content and happy life, there is one thing troubling their existence – the broken relationship between a father with his estranged daughter. Will Michael find a way to save what's left of their relationship?_

**Chapter 15 (Part 2) – Drought**

He has never felt more like a failure in his whole life.

This has never happened to him before. Ever. Period. Not even during his first time, or his most rushed time, his least-in-the-mood time, or the time he was actually faking he cared at all. So he certainly never believed - not even in his worst nightmares - that it could happen with _her;_ the most special of them all.

He was always deeply, romantically and wildly in love with Sara, right from the start. His pulse quickened every time she so much as looked at him, smiled at him or caressed him, which made the whole thing seem all the more incomprehensible. As early as Fox River during the day in her infirmary or at night while lying on his hard scratchy-sheeted cot, he was reduced to experiencing an occasional moment of awkwardness or two, desperately trying to hide something he thought highly immature and strangely inexplicable due to both his age and his present location.

It took nearly losing her to finally realize exactly how much she truly meant to him. To learn that she wasn't just a means to an end like a _key_, or much more than a beautiful and surprisingly bright distraction in his uneasy quest. But the certainty that she was so much more than what could be expressed by words came that day when Brad Bellick, with a most arrogant smirk on his lips, told him what exactly his actions had cost her.

Only then did he realize how much trouble he was _really_ in.

While his own personal costs were high, they were nothing compared to the price Sara had to pay for his mistakes. It was something he would never forgive himself for even if they were finally together and she belonged to him in the end. Today? He has her all for himself, possessively close and more complying than he would ever dare to dream.

Truth to be told, Michael thinks that it should come rather as a surprise they managed to stay together this long when he has failed her in so many different ways over the past two years over and over again in ways he cannot even begin to count. Even if he started now he knows he will never be able – (cause one lifetime is simply too short) - to make it all right again, despite his plan to spend the rest of his life trying to make amends and repaying at least a small portion of his eternal debt to her. She may not know it, she may not acknowledge it, but she _is_ his salvation and his ultimate single selfish gift and his main reason to stay alive and cherish each new day because he gets to wake up next to her. He doesn't know what kind of man that makes him, but he is thankful for the gift of each minute he gets to spend with her. He would give anything to know that he's the same for her, but reality comes crashing back far too quickly and he's knows with a dead-proof certainty that he's _not_.

Because even today, months after his operation, he still has to lean upon her in every possible way: emotionally, medically, financially or existentially. It drives him crazy to be so dependent, so _impotent;_ especially when he knows he _should_ be so much more to her than just another cross to bear. He knows she would argue with him - _has_ argued fiercely and forcibly about that point - jabbing an angry finger in his chest while shouting with watery eyes that he was everything she had and wanted. He knows because they've already had this argument before and it was one of the most painful things he had ever gone through.

With a painful stab to the chest Michael cannot shake the thought that's been the first and last thing on his mind every single day for the last two months; that as romantic and idyllic as her words may sound, in real life he has become exactly what he feared. Just another anchor to drag her down. A single puzzle piece in her huge mosaic of disappointing relationships and a fragment much like the ones of her parents or all her previous relationships.

Despite his current failures and shortcomings however, there was one thing he always knew he could provide and always count on. While it might not be something a decent man should brag about, he knew that if nothing else there was never any way in this world that he could or would deny her whenever she lay claim on him. A provocative look, or just an innocent thing like a suggestive hand gesture, something as simple as bending over to retrieve something dropped while dressed in an old yet incredible fitting pair of jeans, it always had the right effect on him.

It used to be an awkward moment between the two of them at first, especially since their early days after they moved in together up until she had the grace to make a running joke out of it so that instead of feeling embarrassed by his obvious lack of bodily control whenever she was close, all to his benefit he knew, she put him at ease. And to his pleasant surprise, she was not only quietly accepting of the seemingly never-ending appetite for him, but rather supported his enthusiasm eagerly, always meeting him halfway and dropping anything she might be doing at that time to steal a couple of minutes, half an hour or a whole night if they could afford it to indulge themselves in the intimacy of their bed – or couch, or kitchen counter – always welcoming him in such an inviting gesture that it stole his breath away and took his budding erection to a whole new level.

It was always like that with them because they still loved each other like they did the first day. That much they've known since the very beginning. Nearly two years ago they moved in together abruptly and so soon while barely knowing each other. They both knew it was a huge step to take, a step whose outcome neither of them could have dared to predict. And yet, it all worked out magically easy, both of them effortlessly falling into a steady pace and rhythm of everyday life, tasks and chores. And they both enjoyed every minute of it as long as they could go through the motions together.

From the day he moved her in and they begun living together, getting to know each other and learning to understand each other, it all clicked into place and it was the easiest thing to do. He took the left side of the bed, she took the right. He cooked and she took care of the dishes. She cluttered the place with small nicknacks and he came up with smart ways of where to place them so the apartment still looked neat. He liked the window open while she liked to cuddle under warm blankets. They were so distinct in their preferences until the point where they fitted together absolutely perfectly, like two pieces of a puzzle. Well aware of this fact, it never ceased to amaze as well as amuse them.

But living together under one roof was one thing despite the fact that it went surprisingly smoothly. There was also the question of their never consummated sexual tension and this was an altogether different issue, although definitely not for the lack of eagerness on either side. The trouble was once they finally had the luxury of time and privacy and space on their hands after moving in together, there was still the lingering issue of Sara's healing stab wound. Michael looked after her with a ferocious yet gentle care that left her with absolutely no doubt that risking everything she ever had for this man was the best decision she'd ever made, and that was something to be said considering all the poor choices she made through the course of years. He did all the tasks at hand with surprising ease and gratification even; no job too embarrassing, tiring or abstract for him. He helped her clean up and dress, cooked for her, drove her to the hospital every other day for a check-up, all the while helping her to get on with her own daily chores, trying to keep her mind happy and occupied. He brought her books and magazines to keep her entertained, made popcorn for their movie nights and orange juice for breakfast once he found out she loved the taste. On some nights he told her stories from his childhood and growing up, or entrusted her with some of his worst nightmares from his time in Fox River, all the same answering every question she might have as truthfully and thoroughly as possible. They often lay in silence, cuddling on their couch on a quiet night, deciding that talking by the light of a single candle in order to get to know each other just a little better could be far more entertaining than any movie or popular TV show. He always gently wrapped and tucked a second blanket over her form, '_just in case'_ he always said, all the while careful and mindful of her injury. He kissed and touched her in all the right places, always leaving her breathing hard, fairly aroused and wanting _more_, but he never took things any further than an occasional caress or stroke of her breast or some other - also very sensitive – body part. This was very sweet and even might have been a most enjoyable foreplay, yet the main course never ensued. Their evenings ended with him bringing her to the bedroom where she went to sleep alone, a chaste kiss pressed against her cheek or forehead or mouth - when she was really lucky – the only reminder they weren't just friends, roommates or siblings.

His attitude regarding their intimate life, or the lack thereof, drove her crazy and for quite some time. She couldn't figure out the reason and soon her own insecurities were slowly starting to creep up on her with the growing number of weeks of their forced celibacy, all up until the day she finally confronted him, along with her own demons and insecurities, and asked him straight out. She should have expected his answer. He was scared, for _her,_ for all he's ever done to her, from the still healing wound in her stomach to his concerns he wouldn't be able to provide her with all she wanted, needed and deserved from him, emotionally as well as physically. Hugging him close that night and pressing his watery face into her shoulder, she whispered to him in a voice full of her own unshed tears a single short promise, "_I won't break_."

He took the final step that night, something they both knew was both inevitable and so welcomed right from the start and that night proved to be the best in his life. It was a night that stretched into an even more amazing late morning.

Michael's expectations were high, but not on her part. Of her, he was absolutely sure. He wanted to make her feel good, to fulfill her every need, demand or secret wish. It wasn't just about the sex the same way she was not just any other girl. _God, she was always so much more than that._

In the end, however, he needn't have worried. Where his brain was imagining potential obstacles, nature took its course and the mutual feelings they shared for each other turned what might have been a pleasurable yet casual round of sex into something far more carnal and emotionally deeper. Their intense emotional connection, physical attraction and blind surrender to their more primal needs that night created a firmly rooted foundation for a strong relationship. It wasn't about the sex, about release, or about something they both felt like they were inevitably gravitating towards ever since they met. It was about a single moment in time, a moment shared and owned by no one else but them, enjoying it together all the while sharing and taking and giving without a place to hide their deepest fears or longings, hearts laid bare in front of the other to see and judge and love.

And from that point on, Michael knew there would never be a time when he could get enough of Sara, and that meant _all_ of her; flesh and heart and soul.

From that first night on, whenever she asked, whenever she as much as battled an eyelash, sent him so much as a secretive smile that graced her sweet pinkish lips or wiggled her cute little ass suggestively at him, Michael was always prepared, eager and willing. And his body never let him down in his pursuit to grant them as much pleasure and sexual bliss as possible, whenever and wherever and how often they craved.

That is, not until today.

~~~ooOoo~~~

The icy grass of Lincoln's small backyard crunched under Frank's feet as he slowly made his way to the small barbeque gathering of three men he never in his life thought he would spend time with. Things changed, Frank thought, his mind taking him to the image of his five months pregnant daughter, sharing a life with an ex-convict and his once convicted-of-murder brother.

He sighed, deciding to view things more optimistically, imagining things could have been far worse for his baby girl. She could be lying in some dealer's den right now, too stoned to notice she's being used by lowlifes and scoundrels. Or God forbid already dead from a drug overdose by an addiction she could no longer control.

So right now, Michael Scofield seemed like a lesser of two evils, albeit not exactly what Frank had planned for his little girl in life.

The three men didn't notice his presence at first. He was a little early, walking around the house and directly into Lincoln Burrows' backyard, already familiar with the layout of the man's house as well as his habit to bring every possible gathering outside the house, whether in heat, storm or snow. The irony of being so well in tune with this family was not lost to Frank, after all, he was the one who once signed Lincoln off to death row. Life had definitely a cruel sense of irony, thought Frank as he finally spotted the man who once gave him and his career so much grief.

Lincoln was already by the grill, huge steaks sizzling on the red-hot grid, some vegetable's discreetly broiling next to the meat. Frank inwardly grinned. He already knew Lincoln Burrows well enough to tell that the vegetable part was surely a non-negotiable request on his daughter's part.

LJ was at the wooden table nearby fixing drinks, his tongue sticking out with concentration as he tried to pour the right amount of what looked like coconut syrup into a huge bowl of some cocktail drink Frank couldn't identify. He could only hope no alcohol was involved for the teen.

Frank's eyes caught Michael as the last one, the pale man's thin frame lying on a long wooden deckchair, head supported by cushions and body covered with a thick duvet. He was wearing a beanie and occupied by an activity that upon spotting made Frank nearly snort in contempt and disbelief. Two long needles in his hands and a concentrated look on his face, with his tongue sticking out nearly in the exact same fashion as his nephews, Michael Scofield was knitting.

Frank looked around, trying to catch a glimpse of his daughter but when he didn't spot her anywhere he decided it was time to make his presence known by letting out a small cough and stepping forward into the center of the small grass square to join the odd group that he would be soon enough inevitably tied by blood, at last.

~~~ooOoo~~~

Sara was running late, she knew, and in her attempt to catch the earlier train by running up two flights of stairs, she exhausted herself to the point of nearly passing out the moment her bottom hit the first vacant seat on the train. She took a few hasty gulps of air before reminding herself to breathe long and deep instead in order for her breathing to return to normal. It worked and soon enough she was staring out the window aimlessly as the stations and busy city life flew by in a blur. Remembering the fragile carton box that held the cake, she lifted the box to rest it on her legs in front of her. The last thing she needed was for somebody to step on Michael's birthday cake. With that thought went her mind directly to Michael, while one of her hands came to rest on her slightly swollen belly. Her pregnancy was more prominent with each day, yet it was still fairly easy to mask it under thick coats and wooly sweaters. Not that she had a reason to hide her bump, on the contrary, it was something she was rather proud of.

She glanced at her watch. She was already fifteen minutes late. Extracting her cell phone, she tried anew to push the ON/OFF button in an attempt to start it but it was no use, it was still dead. She managed to accidentally drop her phone earlier that day and hadn't been able to power it on since. Angrily, she tossed it back into her purse. _Stupid phone!_

She was now not only running late for Michael's birthday, but moreover was unable to call him to let him know she was alright and would be home soon. _Perfect,_ she hissed in her mind, cursing her own clumsiness for the millionth time that day.

It took her another 25 minutes to reach Lincoln's, hoping Michael wasn't already climbing the walls in concern. She quickly walked around the house and straight into the backyard, only to be met by the sight of the four most important men in her life sitting together around a garden table and talking quietly. Michael was propped up on a deckchair, covered by a duvet and wearing a beanie and Sara's heart melted the moment she saw him. Albeit still way too pale, weak and skinny with dark circles under his eyes, he was still a sight that made her heart race faster and her breath catch in her throat whenever she laid eyes on him.

As if he sensed her staring Michael's head shot up and caught her eyes immediately, and from a single look, it was clear to Sara that the seemingly calm conversation between her men was just a mask, Michael's eyes being a tad too slow in hiding the clear panic and concern for her belated arrival. She gave him a reassuring smile and crossed the distance between them in a few short strides. Choosing to ignore their companions for just a little longer, she dropped her bags to the ground and carefully plopped herself onto the very side of the deckchair right next to Michael's waiting form, her arms coming to encircle his shoulders, bringing him into a fierce hug.

"Happy Birthday, Michael," she whispered into his hear, her voice slightly shaking.

She could feel his arms encircle her back as fiercely, squeezing her sensitive frame maybe a little too strong against his own, as if wanting to reassure himself of her presence, then he suddenly loosened his grip on her, withdrawing his head just so he could look her in the face. He smiled broadly, his eyes silently dancing with mirth just at the sight of her and once again, her heart felt way too big for her chest. In a last private gesture of affection she couldn't help herself from demonstrating, particularly not on such a special day like today, she closed the gap between them and pressed a sweet and lasting kiss onto his lips, her hands cradling and caressing the sides of his head and face. Breaking the kiss only reluctantly, she brought him for another quick reassuring hug before withdrawing way too quickly for his liking to address the rest of her family. Lincoln and LJ were grinning wildly, causing her cheeks to blush just a little, whereas her father looked anywhere but at her, clearly embarrassed for the both of them, which caused her to let out a throaty nervous laugh.

"Hi guys," she said with a cheeky smile, the added a little more dignifiedly, "Dad," nodding to her father, then directed her focus back on Michael. He was still pale and rather fragile on the outside, but the fire in his eyes was so fierce and strong it caused her blood to spike with warmth. A little out of breath from simply staring at him for a prolonged period of time, Sara finally managed to unglue her eyes from his smoldering gaze and attempted to stand up just to put a little more distance between them. But he quickly caught on to her intentions and stopped her abruptly by holding tight to her arms, his eyes begging her to stay in place just a little longer while one of his hands sneaked underneath her thick coat and gently came to rest on the curve of her stomach. She felt goose bumps rise on her arms.

"Hey there. What took you so long? We were starting to get worried," he said, his eyes betraying his words were more than an understatement.

"I am really sorry, I got held up," she tried to explain hastily, still clinging to Michael but now addressing also the rest of the group.

"I tried to call…" Michael started, but she cut him quickly. "I know, and I am sorry but my phone died on me."

"Died on you?" repeated Michael, puzzled. "How come? You haven't had it for more than a year."

"Uhm…yeah," she started, suddenly looking embarrassed. "It didn't die on its own, you see. I, uhm…dropped it. It felt into water and although I retrieved it rather quickly, I can't get it to work anymore."

Michael frowned, his interest piqued enough to press the issue a little bit further. "How did you manage to drop it into _water_? Where?"

Sara's usually pale flesh gained a pinkish color as she suddenly got up from Michael's chair and grabbed the box with the cake rather clumsily, fiddling with the tied ribbon, her eyes shying away from all of the men present. She bit her lip and had every intention to flee from the situation any time now but Michael's gentle grasp on her wrist and Lincoln's rather insensitive "C'mon Sara!" stopped her.

"Okay, I'll say this just this once and then we'll never speak of it again, alright ?" she said, grabbing her purse and throwing it over her shoulder, ready to duck into the house right after her embarrassing confession. "I was at work, I needed to go to the restroom and had my cell in my breast pocket. I …did my business and as I was bending over, the phone just…dropped straight into the toilet." She finally dare to raise her eyes a steal a glance at the men surrounding her, their masculine presence suddenly overwhelming her for reasons she couldn't understand. Already seeing the start of a huge pompous grin appearing on Lincoln's face, a surge of vulnerability and self- protectiveness shot through her heart. Before he had any chance to speak out loud what was on his mind, and it was surely something offending, Sara was sure of that, she already prepared to strike back and beat him to his budding comment. "And I swear to God Lincoln Burrows, if you ever as much as dare to repeat this as a "funny" story that will go somewhere along the lines of: _how my growing pregnancy breasts literally forced the phone straight out from the pocket into the bowl_, a joke I know you have every attention voicing even at this very moment, I'll make you'll regret that very, _very_ much." With that, she turned on her heel and started towards the house, leaving a rather stunned male audience behind.

"You're an ass," announced Michael after a moment into the silence.

"What?" let Lincoln out in an outraged cry, "I didn't say a thing to her…"

"You were _about to_," cut Michael back angrily, "and you know how upset she gets these days, so why irritate her even more?"

"Man, it's not my fucking problem she's so hormonal! A couple of weeks ago, she would literally _beg_ me with her eyes to make a joke about it only to be able to come with some kind of smart retort back at me. Besides, I didn't _say_ anything to her!" Michael continued to glower at him, although he knew his brother was right. Sara's precipitous reaction probably due to her embarrassment about her accident, was not his brother's fault. Still, he sighed, it didn't make him feel any better about the situation as he continued to irritate his brother with a fixed stare.

"How about I talk to her," offered Frank, tired of listening to the two men bickering. They both seemed agitated, which didn't skip his attention and from experience, Frank knew it wouldn't make any good if they talked to his daughter like this. The brothers looked at him, momentarily interrupted in their starring contest, then suddenly realizing they were both overreacting for no apparent reason. Michael lowered his head in shame before nodding in agreement to an already standing Frank. "I think that might be a good idea."

"I'm gonna join you, if you don't mind" LJ spoke up to Frank, "you know, offer Sara some help with the cake," he explained and without waiting for an answer, he quickly left, happy to be able to leave the company of his agitated father and grumpy uncle.

Michael kept his eyes lowered, his hands coming to play absentmindedly with the yellow wooly piece of knittwork he's been working on since that morning. It was supposed to be a sweater for their baby, he reckoned, although it looked nothing like anything recognizable at the moment. A sweater for a baby whose mother he just managed to upset by being so damn nosy.

"Man, knitting. Really? Ain't that a tad bit pathetic?" said Lincoln to his brother once they were alone, interrupting Michael's thoughts. His tone was back to normal, more even. Despite the rather harsh words, his tone of voice took on a caring and gentle sound Michael recognized as one that Lincoln used to use with him when they were much younger. He sighed, his posture crumbling with sudden onslaught of long-suppressed guilt and misery.

"What's going on with you, Michael? You've been acting like a neurotic jumpy teenager for the past couple of weeks and I simply cannot see the reason why. I know you have it hard man, with the treatment, your worries for Sara's well being, plus the lack of activity in your personal life, but hey, you seem to have been in a better mood even right after the operation," he prodded, trying to catch his brother's eyes. When Michael didn't return his look nor react to any of his inquiries Lincoln just sighed, leaning back in his chair and taking a long sip from his beer. He knew his brother, he would eventually talk once he collected his thoughts about what exactly he was going to say. And if not, well, Lincoln would have to kick his brother's ass with some well-aimed hard love to get some answers. Because this obnoxious brooding man was nothing like his brother.

In fact, Lincoln could remember only one time in the past when his brother behaved this, and that was on a god-damned freighter which was bringing them away from the clutches of authorities as well as the company, but subsequently also further away from Sara. Missing her made Michael into a sullen and sour companion with which it was nearly impossible to get on well. But today, the situation was hardly similar. They two of them may still have problems and issues like health and money, but they were together, alive, and were to become parents soon, and Lincoln knew that for Michael, that was the ultimate dream come true, so he couldn't understand why all of a sudden Michael's mood started to change a couple of weeks ago. He wouldn't have said anything, but he could see the strain rubbing off onto Sara as well.

His brother's bad moods, that were becoming more and more frequent over the course of the past few weeks, were making Sara uneasy and cautious, jumpy and nearly obsessive in his brother's company, watchful of Michael's every reaction or move he made, as if directly looking for something; seeking or expecting answers to questions she herself didn't know. And despite Lincoln's undying loyalty to his brother, he felt some inner pull that made his brotherly protectiveness stretch onto Sara, making him feel obliged to deeply care for her well-being as well. Over time, she came to mean so much more than just Michael's companion for life to Lincoln. As he got to spend more and more time with Sara Tancredi, he got to know and appreciate what his brother saw the first moment he met the intriguing prison doctor. He got to see how smart, funny, undemanding and easygoing she was, how endearingly cheeky she could be in taking him on in his verbal challenges, how incredibly happy and open she was making his brother, how she transformed into a motherly figure for his son in the span of mere months, and how she could make anybody feel at home in her presence. He liked her. Hell, he even loved her, as a_ sister_, he added quickly in his head, and despite Lincoln would never openly admit to anybody, deep down he knew that somewhere in the deepest nook of his heart he may harbor feelings for Sara that he knew his brother might, probably rightfully, find inappropriate. Not that he planned to act upon them in any way, that was a sacred ground he would rather die than trespass on. And maybe, Lincoln thought, he was just so fucking lonely for way too long that he simply liked to seek her gentle and feminine presence. Yet may that as it be, Lincoln knew his loyalties were now divided between not just two, but already three people in his life, because they were family, consanguineous or not.

However, he chased these distracting thoughts away for now, concentrating on his brother instead. Michael was still nervously playing with the piece of yellowish 'something' he's been knitting – _Gosh, how pathetic was that? _but otherwise kept quiet, his eyes downcast.

"Okay Michael," he started anew, this time more carefully. "I see there is something off with you and I don't know what that is, but man you gotta stop or at least confide in someone and try to sort it out. Whatever it is, it's driving you nuts and it's starting to come between you and Sara as well," Michael's eyes snapped up at the mention of her name, "and I know that's definitely _not_ something you want. So if you don't want to tell _her_, at least tell me, so you can deal with it and fix your problem. If you don't want to, I will keep quiet about it, Sara will never have to know. Just let me help you out."

To Lincoln's horror, shamefast moisture appeared in Michael's eyes. Still refusing to look at his brother he choked out in a whisper: "It's actually about me _and_ Sara." He finally raised his eyes and for the first time in weeks, Lincoln saw a wave of utter misery reflected in his baby brother's eyes instead of guarded glances or moody glares.

"We are having some problems," he finally confessed, nearly stumbling over his words, his eyes once again shying away from Lincoln's shocked face.

"You're kidding me, right?" Lincoln said with disbelief, "You two, out of all the people in this world?" _Surely, Michael wasn't implying what Lincoln thought he was implying._ Michael's eyes bore into the table, making the sinking feeling in Lincoln even worse. Recognizing his brother's inner agony, he chose a direct yet calm approach.

"Michael, just tell me, okay? Exactly what kind of _problems_ are we talking about here?" Whatever it was, it couldn't be that bad, thought Lincoln, and in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere a little bit, he added with a small laugh: "Jeez Michael, you're making it sound so mysterious, one would think you two are splitting up!"

He meant it as a joke, of course, but the shocked and panicked look on Michael's face at his brother's suggestion slammed Lincoln like a slap in the face. He sobered at once, a concerned look of shocked disbelief appearing on his face, calming slightly only when the younger brother started to shake his head vigorously.

Lincoln's words caused Michael's stomach to make a double flip. He loved Sara to the point that the thought of having to spend the rest of his life without her made him physically sick, so Lincoln's words cut him deep. "Of course _not_," he was quick to reply with silent yet intense indignation, yet Lincoln's absurd suggestion managed to ignite a sudden spark of uneasiness in Michael.

Lincoln was visibly more relaxed now. Whatever it was, he knew his brother and Sara could sort it out. "Then what's the problem?" he kept on prodding nosily. "And spill it quickly, cause there is only so much time it takes to calm down a hormonal woman and cut a cake," finished Lincoln warningly, his eyes quickly scanning his house through the house's back French door. He could see Sara talking to her father in the kitchen, LJ nowhere to be seen, so he hoped they still had a couple of minutes on their hands until everybody gathered back in the garden.

Meanwhile, Michael seemed to struggle for words. He felt a great deal of shame admitting his problem to his brother, but there was also something else; a feeling of fidelity and loyalty towards Sara. A trust he didn't want to breach by discussing something this private with his brother.

"Michael," warned Lincoln urgently. There was no time to mince words. Michael squeezed his eyes shut, letting out a deep shaky breath, then finally said the words aloud.

"We're not having sex."

_There, he said it, out loud, and it was out there now in the open_, were Michael's thoughts, the amount of mortification he felt over saying out loud those words nearly broking his voice. "We haven't made love since the operation because of my inability to…_perform_."

Finally Michael managed to raise his eyes towards Lincoln, his blues swimming with nearly unbearable humiliation, yet at the same time, his challenging look just daring him to make a joke about his impossible situation.

However, Lincoln thoughts were of that he probably never heard anything less funny in his life.

It may not have been a big deal if it was for anybody else, but Lincoln suspected this problem probably represented a far deeper problem for his brother than for any other couple. Because he knew that for his brother, sex went beyond the simple act of coupling. He's seen the intense smoldering looks his brother and Sara exchanged whenever they thought nobody was looking, always causing the person who was a witness to one of these looks want to crawl away into a corner and die in shame or sink right down into the ground for feeling like a fucking voyeur, like an intruder on something of the most private nature.

Lincoln also suspected that his brother's sex life since Sara, well – _improved_, considerably - and was very intensive and probably quite frequent. That said, Lincoln was more than a little shocked by Michael's confession.

"It started after I had the operation," said Michael, his voice tentative yet resolute. He decided to tell his brother everything once he started. "I don't know why. It might be a medical condition, a simple and temporary aftereffect of the operation, or it might be a permanent side effect nobody was aware of until the point we…" he stopped, his cheeks staining a little, "…you know."

"I'm really sorry Michael." Said Lincoln, deeply feeling for his brother, a little lost at what to say next. "What's Sara's professional opinion?" at last he asked quietly, his eyes wandering shortly to the long lean figure with the slightest visible baby bump currently talking animatedly to her father in his very kitchen. She actually looked bothered too at this very moment, and Lincoln wondered for a second what she and her father were currently discussing. Then his look returned back to study intently his brother's face.

Michael shrugged non-commitedly, but his eyes betrayed his anguish. "She said it may be physical, but that there is a fair chance it's just a psychical block I created in my mind after the first fail, that may have been a result of simple exhaustion that day. And that it was possible that it was solely my mind that was the further reason behind my other blocks."

"How many times has it happened…?" asked Lincoln, feeling a little bit awkward in this situation, not knowing how to put such delicate questions into words. It felt bizarre, discussing such an issue with his brother on his birthday, in Lincoln's backyard. Two years ago if someone had suggested this situation in Fox River, he would have sent them straight into the Whack Shack or head first into the nearest wall.

"After the first four or five times," replied Michael in a choked voice, "I stopped trying to initiate anything. A couple of times later, Sara stopped as well." It saddened Lincoln to see his otherwise happy brother crumble in front of him like this.

"What did Sara say? I mean, is she _bothered_ by the situation the same way _you_ seem to be?"

"How could she not!" said Michael agitatedly, his voice rising in frustration. "She is tied to an impotent cripple who cannot offer her as much as the most fundamental thing of a normal relationship" he snapped, ending his words with a hiss and fixing Lincoln with an intense glance.

Lincoln didn't let himself being provoked by Michael's sharp tone. "Did she say anything? Blam you? Voiced her…dissatisfaction?"

The previous anger in Michael's eyes seemed to disappear into smoke, leaving a tired and hollow expression on Michael's face. He shook his head. "She didn't, of course. You know her, she would never do anything else but offer support," instead the meaning of his last words being a consolation for him, they seemed to press even further onto Michael. "But she stopped trying," he added in a whisper. "Maybe she's already given up on me."

"And you two haven't done _anything_, whatsoever, since your operation? I mean, you tried to have sex with her and then when it didn't work out, you did what?" asked Lincoln astounded. Michael merely shrugged, then shook his head, "Well, I told her I was sorry, she said it didn't mind, I kissed her goodnight and we went to sleep," mumbled Michael, obviously too lost in his own guilt to see the bigger picture as Lincoln could. Drawing a fairly accurate picture of the situation from the few snippets his brother has given him, a fury at his brother's stupidity suddenly entered Lincoln. He could all too easily picture Michael drawing into an internal shell of self-spite and guilt over an issue, shutting out the people he loved to spare them, and instead ending up hurting them more without even noticing.

"And have you at least been talking about seeing a professional?" asked Lincoln, already suspecting the answer. The guilty look on Michael face was evidence enough. He shook his head again. "We don't talk about it really…I mean, I don't want her to feel awkward about it even more as it must be for her," Michael took a steadying breath before he said out loud what he knew would put him to shame in his own eyes as much as in his brother's, "Truth is, it's _me_ who refuses to acknowledge the issue. Sara's merely forced to wait me out. And I am not sure how long she will be willing to wait for me, Linc."

It was more the defeated tone than the words themselves that agitated Lincoln. He didn't know this side of Michael existed; he was not a quitter. He always drew hope and he always finished what he started. Hell, he broke him out of Fox River! He was a fighter and despite the wrongs of the concept, was the one to fix problems when other screwed up. When there was no hope, he always found a way. When you though there was no solution or walking around a problem, it was always Michael who proved you wrong. Now, he was just passively accepting his fate, waiting for the other shoe to drop. This was so not like him and Lincoln simply couldn't understand it. Especially when the problem involved a certain someone, for whom he thought Michael would have moved heavens and earth.

There was always only one thing he has ever wanted, the only selfish thing, and that was Sara. He was ready to do just about_ anything _to save her, have her, to make her happy. If he had to sell his soul to the devil to see her smile just one more time, Lincoln knew he would do so gladly. Now however, Lincoln saw his brother only as a self-pitying pathetic moron whose pessimism was driving the person he loved most in this world further away from him. He knew the tough-love part had to happen, now or never.

"Scratch what I said about the knitting Michael, _now_ you are being utterly pathetic," Lincoln retorted, anger flashing in _his_ features without warning. "Stop pitying yourself. If you are pulling this sad-lost-puppy-shit also in bed, it's no wonder Sara's stopped trying. Has it even crossed your tiny mind she might not be initiating anything only to spare _you_ the embarrassment? To spare _your_ feelings?"

Michael still looked utterly miserable, but Lincoln could see the spark or acknowledgment and interest in Michael's eyes. Well, that was something at least. "You said it yourself, you stopped trying first, then she stopped, too. Knowing you, I'd guess you've been all apologetic and mortified and pitiful every time it didn't work out and it never crossed your mind she might feel bad for you and doesn't want to torture _you _any further, right? Have you considered the possibility that she might feel bad and maybe even guilty herself? That the emotional gap you created by avoiding the issue properly might be even more hurtful than the physical separation?"

The sheepish eye-evading look on Michael's face gave Lincoln the answer. He rolled his eyes at his baby brother who could sometimes be simply so dumb and clueless. "I bet you were always making a huge deal out of it instead of accepting it for what it was, something that's happened to every man once in a while…I mean," Lincoln run his hand frustratedly over his scalp, "Fuck, I know it's not easy man. I know you want to give her anything she might need and at the moment, there is very little of what you would wish you could give her, but Sara, she is not like that, what you might think she deserves is not remotely what she really _needs_." Michael watched Lincoln intently now, but his look was even more lost, more guilty, and more clueless. Lincoln gave a huge sigh, squeezing his eyes shut. God, he was not good at this. He tried anew anyway. This was way too important for his brother to understand.

"Listen, Michael, we both know Sara's had a shitty past and rarely received what she truly needed. Her father thought she needed money to feel loved, other people thought she needed physical reassurance in the form of sex to feel loved," the last part left Michael squirming uncomfortably in his seat, "but we both know that's neither what she needs nor seeks from life, not really. We both know she looks rather for an emotional connection, trust and support, and unconditional love more than anything else. And we also both know that no man on earth wants and actually _can_ provide her with that better than you Michael, no matter how dim-witted you try to appear about these things right now."

A small smile spread across Michael's face, sending a wave of relief through Lincoln. God knew he wasn't good or comfortable at these things.

"Okay, argument accepted," admitted Michael, the slightest trace of relief audible in his voice. "It's true that I am willing to do absolutely anything to keep her happy. But, as you very discreetly put into words just now, I've screwed up. So what am I going to do, Lincoln? And what if my problem is permanent? How can I be with her like that?" he lamented helplessly. "I love her, and I want to make her happy - any way humanly possible. But our…_physical bond_, is something I am not sure we can live without." The words were choked, barely over a whisper, and Lincoln had to strain his ears to hear them, grinning at the sudden color creeping into Michael's cheeks.

"Well," said Lincoln at least, a wicked grin spreading through his face, "there's an easy fix to that problem, but I bet you two were already partially solving your issue that way." The incomprehensible look in Michaels face nearly made Lincoln scream.

"Are you telling me you haven't been intimate with her ever since the operation? Like, _at all_? In_ no way_?" he asked, shock written all over his face. "No wonder Sara's been so moody and grumpy."

"Well, as I already told you," said Michael through clenched teeth, his cheeks once again crimson, "we tried, but there is a problem we were unable to solve yet."

"You honestly want to tell me that supposedly genius brain of yours hasn't come up with a way, _any_ way, of how to pleasure a woman using anything other than your dick?"

There was as rather embarrassing moment of silence between the two men as a small light went on in Michael's head. If he though he felt humiliated before, it was nothing compared to the feeling of mortification he felt now.

"Maybe," suggested Lincoln gently, "she is being so grumpy is because she is indeed 'just' pregnant and bothered. But maybe, you forgot to count into the equitation that she might feel like you don't want to make a real effort if there isn't something in it for you, too."

Michael was staring at Lincoln as if just being struck by lightening, then his hands went to his face, rubbing it tightly as a small agonized moan left his lips. "Oh God, that's not…that's _not_ what I wanted her to feel like…Christ, she is everything that's dear to me, how could I make her feel like I didn't care about putting her needs in front of my own without even realizing what I've been doing to her? How can I claim to love her, hurting her like this?"

Lincoln shrugged helplessly. "You are only a man, so don't beat yourself about it, Mikey. And just for the record here, women usually don't expect you to put their needs in front of your own. They just want to you take their needs under consideration from time to time. Hey, this is a good thing, right Michael?" asked Lincoln, because he just discovered a familiar light appearing in Michael's eye. He grinned knowingly. "You just discovered that there's a relatively easy fix to your problem after all, huh?" grinned Lincoln and surprisingly, Michael gave a small smile, albeit a very tentative one, nodding slightly. "It's been never about me," he uttered in a hoarse voice. I cannot understand how I couldn't see it until now. Thank you Linc. For finally opening my eyes to what's really important."

"And what's that?"

Michael smiled, his faith aglow with restored hope and a newly found resolution. "Sara. It's always been Sara."

Lincoln smiled back, glad the hard part of the conversation was finally over. He felt like he's been just ripped off one of those Daniel Steel books Veronica used to pretend reading only to tantalize him. "You better fix your problem soon, Mike. Or…," he said good-naturedly, adding a dramatic effect on the last word, "some other guy, let's say a dark, brooding, unfairly convicted ex-con will come by and steal your woman away from you. And God knows, I am an expert on how to pleasure women," he said, watching Michaels eyes grow the size of saucers, revealing a shocked and outraged expression. He clenched his fist and hit Lincoln playfully in the arm.

"Ouch!" cried Lincoln, but his grin merely grew before his features softened again, his voice once again gentle.

"She loves you Michael, that's obvious to anybody. Any man would call himself a lucky bastard to have a woman like her to love you like she does, and despite the fact that you think you don't deserve her, whether you like it or not, she _chose_ you. So you better do anything to live up to her expectations. Go with the flow Michael, give yourself some time to heal, without any pressure and when you feel like it, try again. And when you fail, try again and try harder. You already know what to do until then, that should take away the stresser of time pressure. You surely know there is so much more to intimacy than sex, you are the one who taught me that, or at least tried to, during all those years of casual meaningless one night stands I had. The thing is Michael, I know, because I had that once," he said, his eyes suddenly glistering and voice quiet and Michael averted his eyes because he knew about whom Lincoln was talking about.

"I'm sorry Lincoln."

"For what?"

There was a hesitant pause before Michael replied. "That Sara's here and Veronica isn't," he nearly whispered. Lincoln's eyes glassed over but he quickly pushed the tears away, shaking his head.

"It's not your fault. I mean it, Michael. She made her choice to help us and she knew the risks. And I know now, she wouldn't want me to spend my life brooding, she hated when I did that," he said with a small smile, despite the remaining glassy look in his eyes. He was okay.

"When did _you_ become so smart, anyway?" asked Michael, half-amazedly, half jokingly.

"Hey, not cool!" warned Lincoln, causing Michael to let out a chuckle. His eyes fell on the table, the knitting needles and piece of wool still lying there. The sight nearly made Lincoln groan.

"And for God's sake Michael, get yourself a _real_ hobby! I don't know, start an art project, draw yourself some blueprints or write a book on prison life, I don't really care, just do _something_," Lincoln looked pointedly at the knitting lying on the table, "You need to focus on some real work, some real problem, or your company will be insufferable! And I might have to step in and kick you ass," warned Lincoln, patting Michael on the shoulder good-naturedly once he saw the younger man nod, before he got to his feet and stretching his arms over his head and yawned.

"Now, what the hell are they doing to that cake? I am starving!"

~~~ooOoo~~~

Meanwhile, Sara was having not an entirely different conversation with her father in Lincoln's kitchen. He followed her after her rather ungraceful hormonal scene about her stupid cell phone. Why she's been so touchy and offensive towards Lincoln, she didn't know, but she knew by the time she arrived in the kitchen that she's on the verge of tears for acting like a complete bitch, ruining Michael's birthday party.

She took the box with the cake and put it onto the counter, opening cupboard doors in search of suitable plates to serve the cake on, all the while willing the tears that threatened to fall back. Things between her and Michael have been a little strained, but it was only understandable considering the circumstances. It was a lot on him, his condition, worries about her and their baby, the feelings of complete uselessness he secretly harbored and now even his inability to get a proper erection, it all took a toll on him. As a doctor, she knew particularly men were way too touchy over this issue, but it pained her to see how much he was beating himself up over it. Instead of tweaking their sexual life into finding more creative ways of getting intimate until he was fit again to have normal intercourse, he seemed to decide to completely stop and abandon any sexual intimacy whatsoever. They still kissed and snuggled, caressed and nuzzled, yet anything beyond that caused Michael to visibly tense up and over time, she started to feel bad for making him feel uncomfortable and cornered in her own company with him always so scared of a possible next failure that he was clearly unable to think about anything else but that. With time, she settled for a life without any deeper intimate contact, but she would lie if she said it didn't pain her, and sometimes even infuriated her beyond all rational point. It was not the end of the world, after all, but Michael acted as if this was the very last drop to the string of failures and he withdrew from her in this particular department whatsoever. She missed her lover, especially now, in her second trimester, sometimes missed him with a vigor that nearly bordered on physical pain. She decided to give him a little more time, maybe a month or two, until he was fully healed and regained his strength before she would confront him, call him out in the open if things between them didn't change. She wouldn't allow them to drift apart over something like this, not when there were other options. There were so many other people with physical disabilities who managed to lead a happy and content life, and so could they, Michael only needed to get his head out of the gutter. That said, it was far easier for Sara to think this whenever she was alone, but to actually say anything about it when they were together was a whole different story. He loved her, she knew that, he proved it every day. He took care of her the way no other man would, always putting her need ahead of his own. She might not have to agree with that, but it's whom she became to love, accepting who he was. Two months ago, she thought he was dying and she felt like her heart was being ripped from her chest. She fretted for his life and mental and physical health during his operation, then spent another eight weeks trying to restrain herself as much as possible from tending to him too much while he was doing chemo, trying with all her might not to make him feel like a burden. Because truly, he never was. Even while being sick in the bathroom, she joined him to bring him fresh towels and napkins to clean himself, he managed to make her smile. Make her feel safe and loved and protected. Made her feel like she was the only woman in the world. She knew he thought he was a burden to her. She also knew she never felt it that way, the same way she knew he would never believe her if she tried to convince him. So they didn't talk about it but kept this fragile balance between them, an understanding of sorts that they came to accept as naturally as the next breath, namely that whether they liked it or not, they were both a part of one whole. And she certainly didn't need the sex to feel that way, although she indeed missed the intimacy of it. She missed the touches, the caresses, the words, the teasing, the declarations, the looks, his eyes, oh those wonderful eyes of his, darkened by arousal, smoldering and devouring her whole, making shivers run down her spine. She missed it all, she missed him like she never missed morphine before. So one way or another, one thing was for sure. A confrontation was coming, whether Michael liked it or not, because she sure as hell refused for something as meaningless as a dysfunctional male erection to come between them, not after everything they've been through and survived together.

She slammed another cupboard door shut maybe a tad more violently than necessary before she opened another one. She ached, ached all over her body. Her breasts were growing, her old clothes weren't fitting anymore and she seemed to overflow in every impossible part of her body. She'd got strokes of heat and her back and feet were slowly starting to swell and kill her, and she wasn't even in the sixth month yet. Maybe that was the reason why she jumped Lincoln's throat preemptively, she was already starting to hate this new strange body of hers, especially when she had nobody she could explore and get used to it with and she couldn't imagine how she could survive another four months inside of her own skin. On the other hand, maybe it was really just that she was as weak and superficial as any other man, simply horny and sexually deprived.

Sara scoffed at her own thought before slamming another door shut, realizing she wasn't even really looking into the cupboards at all, too lost in her own wallowing. She rested her hands on the counter in front of her, taking long and deep gulps of breath, trying to compose herself.

_Not the time nor place_, she tried to remind herself as she turned back towards the kitchen table to retrieve the cake, only to be met with the strong, suited physique of her father, closely followed by LJ.

Her father obviously still didn't seem to get the idea of how to dress casually. Even for a garden party, his suit was perfectly ironed, shirt crisp white. She wondered if he even slept in his suits and now she came think of it, she couldn't remember a time she has seen him in anything else but such.

"Dad, is everything alright?" she asked the first stupid thing that came to her mind, her voice an octave higher than normal. Instead of the sharp reply she's been expecting, he closed the gap between them and enveloped her in a tight hug, momentarily surprising her so much she was left hanging in her father's embrace like a useless piece of chalk.

"I was just about to ask you the same thing, sweetheart," he said, releasing her only to rest his hands on her shoulders. "You look tired and stressed," he stated, and there was an unknown tone of concern and sadness in his voice. She gulped. Instead of answering, she looked around her father at LJ. "Did you come to help with the cake?" she asked him to evade her father's caring tone because quite frankly, she didn't really know how to react to that, it was such a rare thing to witness she was a stranger to it herself. LJ only smiled and shook her head, but came closer, smiling knowingly as he enveloped Sara in a bear hug as well. His sweetness caused her to smile, gladly returning the gesture.

"Just wanted to let you know that we'll love you no matter how big or fat you grow to be," he said cheekily and jumped out of her reach when she swung her arm in an attempt to slap him. She couldn't help but let out an outraged laugh, secretly acknowledging how LJ could always conjure a smile on her face, no matter what.

"I'm gonna call Ashley now," he said, turning on his heel on his way to leave the kitchen. "Call me when it's time to cut the cake," he cried over his shoulder, walking into the direction of his room.

Sara merely continued to smile. "Love you too!" she called after him sarcastically, disbelievingly shaking her head as she returned her focus to the cake. Taking the candles from the counter, she smiled as she counted out 32 of them.

"Thank you," she uttered quietly, her back facing her father. He seemed surprised she addressed him.

"For what?"

"For this," she replied, finally turning around to show him the candles she was just about to stick onto the top of the cake. "If not for you," she suddenly stopped, her voice thick with emotion, "If not for you," she repeated, her voice shaking now, "we might not have a reason to celebrate tonight."

She really didn't want the tears to flow, she though she was done crying for one lifetime, but her heart obviously thought otherwise. She outstretched her arms towards her father, hugging him close.

"Thank you daddy. Thank you forever for helping me keep him at my side."

"Anytime, sweetheart, anytime you need me, I'll be there," uttered Frank in a moved voice, cradling his daughter close.

They took a moment, relishing in the feel of one another, a situation which was long due for the both of them. Moments later, they parted a bit awkwardly, smiling sheepishly while they both wiped their faces before Sara returned to her task of putting the candles into the cake, taking great care to put exactly same distances between each of them, thinking with a knowing smile that Michael might appreciate the precision of the pattern. Along with that, she engages with her father in a round of small talk. They chatted about Bruce and his family, then Frank's work and running the office and about his new employees, but the conversation stayed surprisingly strictly apolitical. Sara appreciated that, even more knowing her father must have been really trying hard to avoid certain topics as to not to tackle the subject of their diverse political views.

The conversation flowed at a relaxed pace until Frank unknowingly touched upon a rather sore subject, albeit with good intentions, Sara was sure. He asked her whether everything was alright between her and Michael, and she nearly did a double take at the question, her hand jerking so hard she practically stabbed one candle into the cake down to its wick. The pattern was ruined and so was her fragile newfound balance.

She decided not to lie but rather confess the truth to her father, although she wouldn't mention the core subject. She would rather die than talk about her sex life with her father. But she told him things she never thought she'd discuss with the governor of Illinois and her father, in one person.

For the time being though, she decided to see Frank as just her father, just a caring parent. She confessed in truthfulness that she and Michael are having certain issues they were working on. She confessed her concerns for Michael, how it all pressed on him; the feelings of uselessness, the boredom he experienced for her sake when trying to fulfill her wishes for him not to do anything that might harm him. He practically had to spend his days aimlessly lying in bed, doing nothing. She told him how it all slowly started to wear on him. She tried to explain how Michael was a man who always needed a purpose, a goal, or simply elaborate intellectual work to occupy his mind. Now, as he wasn't allowed to do any of that, he's been so desperate do to something, anything, that he's even picked up knitting in a desperate attempt to get his mind off obsessing over things he didn't have any control over. She told her father how sorry and helpless she felt to see him like that, especially when she knew she was another factor that's been adding to his stress. She also confided that she knew she's being way too snarky and emotional lately, nervous and discontent, all due to her pregnancy, and that it was not always easy to get on well with her these days. It wasn't an easy time for either of them, she said, but they are firmly determined to see this through, because they still love each other, very much so.

And surprisingly, her father listened, truly listened to her and what she had to say, maybe for the very first time.

Frank asked how Michael's been doing and Sara said with a huge hopeful smile gracing her lips that _finally_, Michael's started his last round of chemo and should get better soon. To be honest, Frank adored the beaming look on his daughters face as she told him this news, only to see her face fall when she told him that he still couldn't even try to apply for any kind job, and wouldn't be able to for at least another couple of months, which was heavily pressing on him too, not to be able to provide for his family. Frank thought about offering money at that point of conversation once again, but he reconsidered and she was glad.

Sara didn't know why she said all those things to her father, or why she didn't feel the least bit bad, because she thought she ought to feel at least a tiny bit of guilt over betraying Michael's trust, but it simply didn't feel that way.

She didn't know why she hasn't been more cautious about what information she gave to her father, because quite frankly, her father had a pretty colorful history of abusing certain important details from her life.

What Sara only knew was that it felt like the right and natural thing to do. It was certainly an unknown feeling, but it felt great and more like everything she's ever hoped it to be – it felt like she had a real relationship with the man who fathered her, finally, after 30 years of knowing each other. And she wondered why it took them so long to get to this point.

Maybe, just maybe, she needed a certain Michael Scofield to enter her life before she was ready to give up on all the resentment and blame in her life in order to try to become a better daughter, for all of their sakes. And the knowledge that it was actually starting to pay off caused a warm feeling to spread through Sara's insides, happily tugging at her heart.

~~~ooOoo~~~

"Here comes the cake," twittered Sara enthusiastically, finally bringing the cake holding an amount of exactly 32 lightened birthday candles and putting it on the table right in front of Michael. Her eyes were still a bit red, which didn't go unnoticed by Michael, but she was genuinely smiling as she put down the cake in front of him.

She looked at him and was surprised to find uneasiness and apology in his eyes, for what, she didn't know, but her heart went out for him. She grasped his hand, squeezing it tightly. "Hey, are your alright?" she asked him quietly. He gulped down the big lump in his throat. Linc was right, he's been blessed with so damn much that it was nearly a sin not to be grateful and happy about it. He was alive, so was Lincoln and LJ, and he had Sara, God, he had Sara, loving him pregnant with his child. There was absolutely nothing to be brooding about. He loved her, more than he loved anything else, and he would do anything in his power to make her as happy as humanly possible. She was his biggest gift and he would not waste it on self-pity.

He smiled up at her reassuringly, willing the moisture that started to form at the back of his eyes away. She returned his smile tenfold, her sparkling eyes making the world around him shine just the little brighter.

She couldn't resist and slowly descended to sit right next to him on the deckchair, her hand encircling his shoulders in support. She gave him a short hug then pressed a secret kiss behind his ear, whispering she loved him more than anything in the shell of his earlobe.

"Now," she said louder for the rest of her family to hear as well, "make a wish."

He looked at her for a long time, a soft smile dancing over his lips. Then with a single, powerful blow, he blew out all 32 candles.

Much later that afternoon, after all the steaks and cake have been eaten, Sara, Lincoln and LJ retreated back inside the house to clean up and wash the dishes from the small gathering. The two men left alone in the garden, Frank approached Michael's laying form, covered by blankets Sara was sure to secure around him before she went back inside. He was looking at the darkened sky, trying to find the stars under the heavy cloud of city smog and therefore, he rather heard than saw Frank approach.

He had an air of resolution about him, Michael noticed even in the dim light. He recognized the posture and the stride of a man whose mind has been set, he's been that man himself not that long ago.

Frank looked down at the pale man with a beanie, hoping he wasn't making a mistake that would ultimately cost him his daughters trust again, but he felt strong about his new idea. He hadn't had time to talk privately to Michael before, but used the time to think his plan through instead, and he felt it might be the best decision he's made in years. The only thing left now was to win Michael over as well.

Frank gave a one last glance toward the backyard patio, checking the shadows of his daughter in the brightly lit kitchen through the large French windows. She was drying off dishes with a towel, the plate in her hand momentarily forgotten as she explained something to LJ and Lincoln animatedly, her hand flying in the air as the three of them started to laugh. She looked so lovely, cheeks stained with mirth, a broad and content smile resting on her face, her posture relaxed. She shook off her coat and sweater earlier, which left her with only a single layer of simple long sleeved shirt of violet color. The baby bump was more prominent now, literally standing out against her otherwise lean body. She looked so lovely, and happier than Frank has ever seen her. He tried to understand, how despite all that was currently going on in her life she could still be so cheery. The only conclusion he could come to when comparing her life before and now was the addition of the three new males in her life.

Despite the fact that Frank didn't directly love it, he was always a man of reason, calling things as he saw them. And what he saw now was loud and clear, that these people - however dysfunctional and badly influential they might seem to the outside world - were making his daughter feeling safe, balanced and happy.

Frank forced his eyes to return back to Michael, only to see the younger man dreamily gazing the same way he himself was only seconds ago. With a smirk on his face he let out a small cough to catch Michael attention. It took some amount of coughing indeed to get Michael to finally unglue his eyes from his daughters frame and when he finally did, Frank was ready to make his offer. Talking in a steady, resolute voice he was always using when acting on his professional duties as a governor, he said, "I have been thinking Michael. And I believe I might have an idea and an intriguing proposal that might pique your interest."

The younger man didn't reply at once, merely regarded Frank steadily for a few short moments. So when he finally answered, his voice was calm and steady. "I'm listening."

TBC

_There IS a part three coming to this three-pieced chapter. The fact is, I kept adding and adding so much it stretched over 20 000 words (!), so I decided to put it in two halves instead, although the plot continues right where we left off. _

_So keep tuned, hopefully, the next installment will come soon. That is, if there are any readers left. :)_


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